The Deepest Cuts Don't Bleed
by scarylolita
Summary: Kyle's eating is disordered and his OCD is slowly getting worse. Craig is letting his philophobia control his life, denying himself anything that might make him happy. Stan is trying to mentally prepare himself for his parents' inevitable divorce. Meanwhile, Kenny is just rolling with the punches, quite literally.
1. SM: Don't make me hit you

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Alternating perspectives, yet again :) this is gonna be another long fic.**

**Pairings in the fic: many, many brief physical couplings (a lot of crack), some straight some gay (Stenny, Kebe, etc) but eventually Style, Crenny, Clybe.**

**Warnings: mentions of suicide and eating disorders**

**Stan's POV**

* * *

Kyle's been washing his hands for an hour. An hour! I let out a loud, impatient groan even though I know he can't hear me from where he is. I'm sitting on his bed waiting for him to help me with my homework. I don't really get angry at his habits, but this one is pissing me off a lot lately. He even does it at my house!

I stand up and wander out of his room and into the hall. "Ky?" I say his name as I reach the closed bathroom door. No answer. There's just the sound of water running. "Kyle!" I shout this time, giving the door a few solid bangs.

"What is it?" His voice comes out robotic, as if he's mesmerized by something. Maybe it's the sound of the water, the movements of his hands… I don't fucking know.

"Get the hell out of there," I demand. "My parents want me home to eat at six. It's almost five now and you've been in there since I got here and I can hear the fucking sink tap."

"One second…" he murmurs hazily.

I let out a sigh and walk back into his room, flopping onto the bed. Hand washing isn't the only thing he obsesses over. His eating habits are messed up again. He makes his bed before he sleeps in it. He has to have all of his belongings in their exact places. His clothing is organized by colour and his books are arranged alphabetically. I don't know why he does it. I wonder what would happen if someone were to mess it up… not that I'd actually do it. I'm not that much of a dick. Cartman is, though and I'm sure the thought has crossed his mind on a few occasions. It all probably stems from the fact that he's a perfectionist. Everything needs to be clean and neat.

Ike once told me that Kyle takes really long showers, too. He said Kyle was once taking so long that Sheila made him go check to make sure he was all right. Apparently Kyle just stands under the nozzle and loofas his skin until it's red. Ike says he does it in almost a daze. He said that sometimes Sheila forces him out and he's in a bad mood for the rest of the day. I don't really understand it.

Kyle returns to his room a moment later, looking his typical self. His curly hair is tidily framing his face and his jeans and argyle sweater are spotless.

Unimpressed, I say, "Finally."

He dismisses the comment and opens up a math textbook. Kyle is in advanced math, naturally. Sometimes I think he's too smart for his own good… I wonder if there's such a thing. He's bilingual, too. He started studying Hebrew when he was thirteen, which made his parents pretty damn proud. He's fluent now. Sometimes I hear him speak it.

We've been spending a lot more time together lately. I feel kind of bad, but I think I've neglected him a lot during the past few years after my relationship with Wendy got serious. And by serious, I mean sexual… but two weeks ago, she dumped me. So that's all over. No more sex for Stan Marsh. Now everyone is saying she might be a lesbian. If it's true, I think I might feel a hell of a lot better about all this than I do right now. Then at least I would know that she didn't just dump me for another dude. I mean, if she's a lesbian then she clearly realized that she wants something I can't give her. If it's another guy… I'll just feel even more insecure.

Kyle has never had a girlfriend. He says he doesn't want one. I don't know why. Having a girlfriend is great. He doesn't really like being touched. I think that's probably because he likes staying clean and he's definitely smart enough to know that people are pretty filthy.

"Okay," he starts, opening to a page of impossible looking math equations. "Look here…"

* * *

At school the following day, I find Wendy at her locker. Her pin-straight, black hair is in a bun atop her head and she looks as good as ever. "Hey," I greet.

"Hey," she smiles prettily. We agreed to stay friends. It's kind of hard. It's so obvious that she has no feelings for me. I can't help but wonder when they started to disintegrate.

"I was wondering," I start, "if we could talk during lunch break."

She looks a little sympathetic and it makes me feel embarrassed. It's like she knows I'm still here drooling over her. "Sure, Stan. We can do that."

"Thanks," I say, forcing a smile.

Class is long and dull. I just want the day to end so I can find Wendy and get a little bit of closure. Kyle is sitting next to me, taking notes. His writing is tidy. When he makes a mistake, he lets out a sharp breath and erases the pencil marks. I watch him for a few minutes, watching the way his hand curves as he writes. He's always had these strange little habits. I never really understood them. They just get worse as the time goes on. At first it was simple things. He would tap light switches when entering or exiting a room. He would rattle knobs, as if he was always worried he forgot to lock the doors. He was always one for alphabetizing. All of his things have their own place in his room. Now, there's the hand washing. I wouldn't exactly call it a quirk.

After first period ends, I part ways with Kyle and make my way to my next class. The day continues slowly and I keep looking at the clock, as if I'm willing the time to speed ahead just for me so I can find out whether or not Wendy is a lesbian. It sounds pretty stupid, even when I say it in my head. Christ, I'm an idiot sometimes.

When lunch break finally starts, I rush back to Wendy's locker without bothering to stop at mine. "Hey," I say once I spot her, trying to play it cool.

"Hey, Stan," she greets, placing a few books in her locker. "So, what's up?"

"Er," I look around to make sure no one's listening. "I wanted to know why you broke up with me… People are saying it's because you're a lesbian… Well, _are_ you a lesbian?"

"I don't think so?" she asks, looking mildly humoured. "Who knows, though? Sexuality can be incredibly fluid. Maybe I _will_ fall for a girl someday."

Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better about the fact that she dumped me. "Oh," I mumble. This isn't going quite how I planned.

"I didn't dump you for another boy, if that's what you're wondering," she adds. "I just… I feel like we grew apart, Stan. I stopped feeling things for you and I let it go on for too long in hopes that I might fall for you again. It didn't happen. I suppose I was silly to think it would."

"Oh," I mumble once more. "When did you stop feeling things?"

"Last year," she admits. "We… We just have too much history, I thought that we might be able to go back to where we started but I know now that it was unrealistic for me to think like that."

"Well, shit," I murmur.

She shrugs her shoulders. "Now that you're single for the first time in almost eight years, experiment a little."

"Experiment?" I ask.

She nods. "Kiss your friends. Use your hand on a boy… I don't know. Be spontaneous. Be young. Explore yourself a bit. Don't be afraid to get a little crazy."

"Er… I don't think I'll be screwing around with any dudes in the near future, but thanks for the suggestion," I say with a nervous chuckle. "Is this the kind of thing you'll be doing?"

She shrugs her shoulders again. "Perhaps… I mean, we may as well experience as much as we can. Life is short. As long as you play safe, there's nothing wrong with getting curious."

"Yeah…" I trail off.

"I'm really sorry, Stan," she says softly, probably sensing my angst. I'm sure it'd be noticeable from a fifty mile radius.

"It's fine." My voice cracks, but I'm not going to cry. Hell no. I take a breath and force a smile. "Thanks for agreeing to talk."

She pats my arm in a _friendly_ gesture. "Sure, Stan."

I wave and go to find my usual crew.

* * *

The school day ends and I feel like there's an even bigger hole in my chest. Closure, my ass.

Me and the guys are walking home now and Cartman is chortling as he tells us about his weekend. Or, more accurately, he's telling us about the poor girl he's manipulated into having sex with him. He's always been incredibly manipulative. He uses it for evil, of course.

Kyle looks like he's drowning Cartman out and Kenny is rolling his eyes at the fat ass. "You're such a fucking pig, Cartman," he sighs, the words come out muffled behind his parka hood.

"Says you," Cartman cackles. "Kinny, you're the pig. We all hear stories about you fuckin' whoever will spread their legs for yah. Girls… and guys. Desperate much?"

This catches my attention because I, for one, have not heard stories about the infamously insatiable lady's man Kenny McCormick getting naked with any dudes. I glance at Kyle, who just shrugs, not seeming all that interested in the potential tale of scandal.

"Shut up, big-tits," he retorts, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets for further warmth.

"Yeah, I heard about you and –" Cartman starts again, only to be cut off by Kenny.

"I said shut up," he says warily. "You're such an ass."

Cartman doesn't press it any further and I don't bother prying. The four of us walk to Kyle's house, where we start brainstorming ideas for our upcoming English oral presentation. We have to do it on an influential writer and then we need to talk about their literary life and personal life. It's pretty dry and boring stuff, if you ask me.

When we arrive at Kyle's house, he swings open the door and announces, "I'm home!"

Sheila appears from the kitchen a moment later and greets us. "Welcome back," she says. "Hello, boys."

We all greet her in return and she asks us what we're up to. We tell her it's homework and our visit is of purely academic purpose. She seems satisfied with that, so we all shuffle upstairs.

"Any ideas?" Kyle asks us, sitting at his desk.

"I dunno," I shrug, flopping onto his bed with Kenny and Cartman.

"We could do Shakespeare?" he chuckles. "He's famous, but I don't think anyone is bold enough to study him."

"Dude," I state, "don't make me fuckin' hit you."

The corners of his lips quirk upward. "You wouldn't hit me," he says with a smile.

"Oh, really?" I challenge.

"Yes, really," he insists, not at all swayed.

"How can you be so sure?" I tease. Of course, he's right. I wouldn't hit Kyle. For one, I'm six feet tall and I've got a hell of a lot more muscle. And two… Well, he's Kyle! I wouldn't hit my best pal.

"Because I know you," he says.

"Yeah," I chuckle. I feel like I'm pretty two dimensional. What you see is what you get. I'm kind of an idiot, but I have a good heart. I know that much. Kyle, on the other hand, is a mystery – even to me. He has secrets. For some damned reason, I never knew it before now. I guess the majority of my time was really consumed by Wendy, not that she demanded it. I was the one clinging to her. Maybe this breakup won't be such a bad thing. I can get to know my best friend again.

Cartman cups his hands around his mouth and echoes, "Gay! Stop flirting with each other."

I roll my eyes and Kyle just snickers.

"Gonna get a room and make out a lil?" Cartman asks us, giving us both disdainful glances. "Want me and Kinny to give you guys a moment?"

"Ha-ha, Tits," I deadpan. "You're _so_ funny."

"Ay! That's not my name!" the fat ass yells defensively.

A moment later, Sheila starts hollering for Kyle. With a sigh, he leaves his room.

"What's the bitch want?" Cartman asks.

"Probably to make sure we don't overstay our welcome," Kenny snorts. "She prefers that he spends his weekdays studying."

With a devious, little chuckle, Cartman stands up and wanders towards Kyle's carefully organized book shelf.

"Dude…" I sigh. "Don't touch any of his shit."

"Why?" he asks. "Think he'll get angry?"

"Probably," I say.

With a smug expression, he starts taking books and placing them between other books. "Thomas Mann?" he reads. "You can go before to Kerouac… And Nabokov… you'll go after Zimbardo… Ginsberg can go next to Murakami." He continues murmuring to himself. Bad as it sounds, I don't stop him because I'm also wondering what Kyle will do once he notices his alphabetized shelf is in disarray.

Cartman flops onto the floor and looks immensely proud of himself. Kyle returns a few minutes later and sits back down at his desk. "Which writer do you guys want to study?" he asks, only to be greeted with silence. He lets out an exasperated sigh and adds, "Come on, guys. I'm open for suggestions. I doubt you want me to just go ahead and pick." Kyle would probably pick the hardest piece of literature because he likes to show off his smarts.

"Let's do the _Harry Potter_ books," Kenny says. "It'll be easy."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Easy? Maybe," he starts, "but I'm sure there are already a few kids who will be talking about the _Harry Potter_ series. Why don't we do Jane Austen, Mark Twain, James Joyce, Ernest Hemmingway or Charlotte Bronte?"

"I don't even know who those people are, dude," I admit.

He lets out a groan and saunters towards his book shelf. My heart starts palpitating as I wait for him to react. "Wait…" he murmurs to himself as he scans each shelf. "Wait…" he says again, as if he's hoping that it's not as it seems… but it is.

"Ky –" I start, but Cartman nudges me to shut me up. He wants to watch Kyle's panic unfold like the sadist he is.

"Wh-what did you do?" Kyle asks, stuttering the question like he is afraid of something. He approaches his shelf and frantically moves his fingers across each title. "This is wrong… this isn't…" he trails off and turns to us. "Who did this?"

Me and Kenny point to Cartman.

"Why?" he demands, breathing heavily.

"Because I thought it'd be funny… and I was right," Cartman laughs.

Kyle's eyebrows draw together and his jaw tightens. He turns around and stares back at the shelf of wrongly ordered books. Then he starts crying. Me and Kenny share a strange look, the room suddenly grows tense and uncomfortable. "Kyle," I say his name. I stand up and approach him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't fucking touch me!" he snaps and I recoil. He reaches forward and takes each book Cartman moved and puts them all back in their correct place. Then he lets out a quiet sigh, briskly wipes his eyes and turns around once more. "Don't ever do that again," he says to Cartman, giving him a hard punch in the shoulder. His voice is hard and stern and it's like his life depends on the alphabetization of these books. He looks flushed, probably from the crying, but he's also probably pretty embarrassed for getting so worked up over something that doesn't seem like such a big deal… I guess, for him, it _is_ a big deal.

I think Cartman is just as taken aback as me and Kenny, because he has no witty retort this time. He just stays silent. "Christ…" he finally deadpans.

Kyle sits back down at his desk and crosses his legs. "We're doing our oral presentation on Mark Twain," he announces, not giving the rest of us a say in the matter.

The three of us simply nod.

* * *

For a few hours we obediently follow Kyle's orders. Well, Cartman gave him a bit of a hard time, but that's to be expected. Kyle chain-smokes for the duration, a habit I really wish he'd drop. Sheila eventually kicked us out, saying that they were having supper and they our parents probably wanted us home since it was getting late. I wanted to laugh. Liane is completely oblivious, Carol and Stuart don't care, and my own parents have been fighting too much to notice me. I think a divorce is in the near future… but I feel sick to my stomach when I think about it, so I don't let myself. If it happens, I'll force myself to deal with it. But until then, I'm trying hard not to hover. It's ironic. Kyle's parents are fucked up, but they're the most together these days.

"Kahl went mental earlier," Cartman mentions as the three of us walk down the street. "It was pretty screwed up… talk about being dramatic."

"Yeah," I murmur, "and it was all thanks to you."

"With a canon that loose, he'll land himself in the funny farm soon enough," Cartman says with certainty.

"No, he won't," I laugh. "Kyle might have some lingering issues, but he's definitely not going to end up in a nut house."

Cartman snickers. "He's been there twice. What's stopping him from going back?"

"The talking shit doesn't count," I mutter, recalling the infamous Mr. Hankey incident. Gross.

"But the second time… that counts," he says.

"He's better now," I insist.

"Is he really?" Kenny wonders and I just sigh, not wanting to think about it. It's hardly a pleasant memory.

We soon approach my house and I bid them a farewell as I turn into my driveway. I take a breath before opening the door and I'm immediately greeted with loud, angry voices. My parents are arguing in the kitchen. "I'm unhappy!" I hear my mom shout and my gut twists around in my stomach. I arrived just in time for the best part. I hang up my coat, kick off my boots and enter the living room.

Shelly is watching TV, looking completely disinterested in what is happening in the other room. I sit down beside her and ask, "If they get divorced, who are you going to live with?"

"Mom," she says without a hint of hesitation or thought. "Why?"

"I'm just wondering," I tell her. I don't know who I would choose to live with. I think it bothers Shelly, even though she doesn't act like it. I've noticed because she's nicer to me. I know it's not my size, because that hasn't stopped her before. I tower over her, but she still manages to get the upper hand. Nonetheless, she doesn't smack me as much as she used to and she doesn't yell as much. I guess my parents do all of the yelling these days.

I close my eyes, squeezing them shut. The yelling continues. I think my mom is crying now. You can hear it in her voice. I stand up and approach the kitchen. "Are you guys going to get divorced?" I ask from the doorway. I don't think I want to find out my dad is gone when I'm getting ready for school or doing something completely mundane. I want to know. I need to know.

My mom looks at me with a face full of tearful sympathy. My dad just sighs, somewhat angrily. "We don't know yet," he says.

"You should just get it over with," I say tartly. "Mom's unhappy. That isn't going to change." I turn around and leave, running up the stairs and retreating to my room. I shrug off my jeans and put on a pair of sweatpants, not bothering to change my shirt. I sit on my bed and hug myself for many long minutes, trying hard to blank my mind but I can still hear them screaming at each other. "Fucking hell," I mumble. This sucks. I grab my phone from my nightstand and decide to text Kyle.

YOU: _hey you busy?_

He replies a few moments later, with perfect spelling and grammar –

KYLE B: _No, I'm just doing a bit of reading. What's up? _

YOU: _my parents are at each others throats and its fucking infuriating_

KYLE B: _I'm sorry._

YOU: _so am i_

KYLE B: _It isn't your fault. Don't blame yourself._

YOU: _im trying not to but its hard and i keep wondering if it might be my fault_

KYLE B: _It's not. They have things they need to work through. It's between them._

I read the words over and over again and I can't help but wonder if Kyle is right. Maybe it's not my fault and maybe I should just go with the flow. I could probably learn a thing or two from Kenny. He's used to that kind of fighting. His parents fight all the time and he's doing all right. Well, I guess I'm using the term _all right_ a bit loose in this case. Kenny has issues, just like the rest of us. He just doesn't cry over spilled milk. Maybe I shouldn't either. There's nothing I can do now.

* * *

I texted Kyle throughout much of the night and I couldn't help but wonder if he often stays up as late as 4AM. I know he likes to keep to his strict schedule, so he probably did it for my benefit. True friend, he is.

It's morning now. I saunter downstairs to find my dad sleeping on the sofa. My mom must've taken the bed. I let out a sigh and rub my temples as I walk into the kitchen to make myself breakfast.

I make a piece of toast and nibble on it for a few minutes before realizing I don't feel all that hungry. I sit down at the table and close my eyes, pressing my forehead to the wood. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. I'm not. I take a deep breath. And then I take another. And another. Then I open my eyes, having willed the lump in my throat away. I stand up and go back to my bedroom. I throw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt before running back downstairs. I zip up my jacket and tuck my pants into my boots. Grabbing my backpack, I leave without a word.

I don't typically look forward to school, but I'm sure it'll be a hell of a lot more pleasant than being at home right now. Seeing my dad on the sofa is just a big reminder that my parents hate each other. No kid wants to know that shit.

At school, I meet Kenny, Kyle and Cartman for English class. "We should meet up again after school," Kyle suggests. "I want to finish the project as early as possible. I started it last night –"

"Ky," I cut him off. "Don't do all the work yourself. We'll help out."

He presses his lips together to form a thin line. Kyle is a perfectionist. Because of this, he hates group work. It's no secret that Kenny is lazy, Cartman doesn't care, and I'm an idiot. It stresses him out. "I just want to do well," he says. "I _need_ to."

"I know," I say softly. "And we will. We always do." It's true. Every time we do a group project together, we end up with an A. I think this is mainly due to Kyle constantly correcting everything we do. I guess I can't really talk because I let it happen, knowing it'll benefit me in the end.

"Yeah," he murmurs, sighing. "Yeah…"

"It'll be fine, Kyle," Kenny adds, patting his shoulder.

Kyle only brushes Kenny off and Cartman rolls his eyes at Kyle's constant worrying. "Fuckin' ginger Jew bitch," he mutters.

Kyle flips him off, eyes narrowing disdainfully. "Stupid cow."

The teacher walks in a moment later. "Silence," she warily demands as she writes today's topic on the chalkboard.

I can already tell it's going to be yet another long and painful day.


	2. KM: Two kindred spirits

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Since I'm already done writing all the chapters, feel free to leave a review or drop me a message if you want to know any spoilers. I know that some people don't like surprises ahah~ anyway, thank you for following and such :) **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

It's lunch break now and rather than sitting in the cafeteria with Kyle, Eric and Stan, I'm behind the school with Craig. He's smoking a joint and looking incredibly tired. The dark circles under his eyes are looking extra prominent. I like bugging Craig. He's so stoic and emotionless; you never know what he's thinking. It's always a feat to get a reaction. I don't really know much about him, I just know he's friends with Clyde and Token. Wendy and her friends also seem fond of him. Hell, even my girlfriend likes him. I've been noticing him lately, too, and that's why I've been hanging around him more. He grew up nice.

"You okay?" I ask as he passes me the joint. I take off the hood of my parka and I see him watch me. I ruffle my hair, give him a pretty grin and take a puff. It still happens. Whenever I'm seen without my hood up, people stare. I wear it a bit less these days, but I still have it on more than I have it off when I'm not in the confines of my own house.

"Yeah," he says flatly, sitting on the cement stairwell.

"You don't look it," I point out.

"I'm tired," he states.

"Up late?" I assume.

"Not by choice," he murmurs vaguely.

"Why, then?" I pry.

"I have sleeping problems," he states somewhat tersely, like it's something he'd rather not talk about.

"What do you mean?" I ask. Now I'm curious.

"I have insomnia," he specifies slowly in a patronizing tone.

I dismiss his attitude. "Whoa, really?" I wrinkle my nose. "That sucks."

"To put it lightly, yes, it does suck…" He rubs a hand down his face, sighing into his palm.

"I heard it was often a psychological thing," I decide to add. "Maybe you should see a therapist?"

"I did," he says. "Once."

"Well, one session won't do much good," I say. "Therapy is usually an ongoing thing."

"I got a prescription."

"Sleeping pills?" I roll my eyes. "Pills help you cope, therapy solves the problem. The two should go hand in hand. You can't just take pills and ignore the problem. That's bullshit. You don't want to be on pills forever."

"Stop talking about things you don't understand," he says.

"How do you know I don't understand?" I challenge. "I might not have trouble sleeping, but I've got a lot going on right now."

"Is that why you're always getting into fights?" he asks.

"Maybe." I give him a tight lipped smile.

He sighs. "Fine, you don't have to tell me."

"Let's play a game, Craig," I say, challenging him.

He shakes his head. "I don't like games."

"You'll like this one," I insist. "Here are the rules: every day you have to tell me one true thing about yourself. It has to be something personal."

"I hate that idea," he says.

I'm not swayed. "If you say one true thing about yourself, I'll say one true thing about myself," I promise. "It will be fun." I pride myself on knowing lots of things about lots of people, but Craig is still a mystery.

He wrinkles his nose, grabbing the dead joint from me and tossing it into a nearby snow bank. "Why do you want to play this game?" he asks.

"I want to get to know you," I tell him.

He raises an eyebrow. "Why? I'm fucking boring."

"I have a feeling," I start, "that you're a hell of a lot more interesting that you let on."

For many long moments, he doesn't respond. I bet I'm right. Craig Tucker probably has a lot of interesting things about him that no one knows. Secrets and whatnot. I want to be the first to find them all out. "Fine," he finally relents with a sigh. "I'll play your game."

I grin. "I knew you would. Everyone loves my games."

Craig presses his lips together before saying, "I can play the piano. I'm classically trained."

"Wow," I say. "That's pretty impressive. I'm going to make you play for me one of these days."

He snorts. "No."

"Aw, why not?" I whine.

"I don't play anymore," he reveals.

"Why?" I pry some more, somewhat surprised he's actually answering my questions.

He shakes his head. "It's your turn. I already said my part."

I let out a sigh. "Fine," I say. "I'm immortal."

Craig gives me the driest stare in the world. "If you're not going to play your own game, then you can't really expect me to."

I let out a chuckle. "Okay, I'm kidding…" I trail off. "Uh, I had my first kiss when I was eight."

"That's young," he says.

"Yeah," I admit with a laugh. "Truth or dare, y'know how it goes."

"Oh."

"Yeah, anyway…" I stand up and turn around, putting my hood back up. "I'll see you later." I walk back inside of the school and find Kyle, Eric and Stan.

"Where were you?" Kyle asks as I take the seat across from him and Stan and next to Eric.

"I was bugging Craig," I tell them with a little snicker. I reach forward and steal a carrot stick off of Stan's lunch trey and add, "He agreed to play a game with me."

"A game, huh? I'm sure he'll regret it soon enough," Stan says.

"Probably," I chuckle, "but until then, I'm going to enjoy it."

"Now, when you say a _game_," Kyle cuts in, "do you mean a mind game?"

"Perhaps," I say with a grin. With secrets there comes trust and an abundance of other feelings.

* * *

After school, I walk with the guys and we all make our way to the Broflovski house. I'm not exactly looking forward to another after school homework session. The last one was tense and uncomfortable after Eric decided to be an ass-hat.

When we all pile in through the front door, Sheila isn't there to greet us. I'm kind of glad about that. She's always been a little too overbearing. I think Kyle hates it. I hate it, too.

"It's Kevin Stoley's birthday this weekend," I decide to mention once we're settled upstairs. "He's having a party. I was taking to him this morning; he said we should come over."

"It's nice of him to invite us," Kyle says.

"Yeah," Stan adds. "We don't really know him that well."

"We should all go," I say.

"Is there gonna be booze?" Eric asks.

"Probably," I snort.

"Anyway," Kyle cuts in, "Let's not get off track."

"Right, right." Eric rolls his eyes.

We spent the next hour doing research on the life and times of Mark Twain. Kyle reads source after source while Stan and me take notes. Eric doesn't do anything, but none of us really expect him to. He's just in it for the easy A.

After the hour passes, Kyle kicks us out and says he'll go to the library and pick up a few biographies for us to leaf through and familiarize ourselves with.

"Sounds fun," I say with distaste.

Kyle just smiles and waves us off. Stan stays behind with him, naturally. They're probably just going to play video games until Sheila gets home and tells Stan to fuck off.

"Kyle was fine today," I say to Eric, tightening the drawstrings on my parka as we greet the cool air.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "He seemed less uptight."

"Because you weren't screwing with his shit," I point out.

Eric rolls his eyes. "Details, details…"

"So," I start, "what's going on in the life of Eric Cartman?"

"Money and hos."

"Right," I snicker, shaking my head. "I still can't believe you and Heidi screwed. That's just… weird."

"Ay! Why's it weird?"

"Because she's pretty and you… Well, you're one fat bastard, Tits."

"I'm hot and buff," Eric insists. "The girls all know it and that's why I get laid."

"Sure, dude, sure," I laugh.

* * *

The following few days are business, business and more business. Kyle is keeping us all in line with the project and we're about finished gathering our information. He'll probably make us piece it together on Saturday, after Kevin's party. We'll all probably be pretty hung over, so I'm dreading it. It's Friday now and class is over. Almost everybody is gone. There's just me, Bill and a few stragglers. I'm currently in the parking lot having a yelling match with him.

"Trailer trash!" he shouts and I bury my fist in his face. He throws the next punch and I feel myself fall backwards onto the slush. I take him down with me and we wrestle on the wet snow like a couple of angry animals.

The stragglers are surrounding us, watching it all go down. Some of the pricks have their fucking cellphones out, taking videos. This shit will be up on Facebook soon enough.

Before anyone can get severely hurt, two teachers run out and break it up. Since it's after hours, we don't get in trouble for fighting. Teachers don't really care. They just pretend to. Bill has a bloody lip and a blooming black eye. I have a bloody nose, but I'm sure I'll find a few bruises once I take my clothes off. Same goes for Bill. I know I landed a few solid hits.

On my way home, I spot Craig across the street. He's talking to Clyde while petting Rex, Clyde's dog. I wave at them before continuing. I wonder if Craig will be at Kevin's tonight. If so, I'll have to remind him of the game.

Yesterday he gave me another pointless fact about himself. He said, "I like the color blue."

The day before that, he said, "I enjoy Radiohead."

And before that, he said, "I have a guinea pig named Stripe."

I want the dirt. I guess I'll have to be patient. Once all the boring stuff is out of the way, he'll need to start digging deeper. Eventually all that's left will be the dark secrets. That's when the fun will begin. I just ended up telling him more sexual things about myself. I had my first blowjob when I was nine, I lost my virginity when I was twelve and I once let Bebe peg me. I think the last one surprised him, though he tried not to show it. I told her I wanted to stick it up her butt. She said sure, as long as I would let her do the same. Fair is fair, right?

At home, I change my clothes. I put on a pair of jeans and a new t-shirt, since I got sweat all over the clothes I was just wearing. I also have to wash my parka because I got a little blood on the fur. So, tonight I'll be no-hood Kenny.

I didn't bother buying him a present, since I have no fucking money. I don't really think he expects a gift from me anyway. I steal a six pack from my dad. He probably won't even notice it. He'll just think he drank it. I guess that'll be my contribution.

I throw on my backup jacket and put on some sneakers before walking to Kevin's. Once I leave the ghetto side of town, I turn up the street Kyle lives on. You can hear the music from here.

When I arrive to the Stoley house, Kevin greets me with a smile and I hand him the alcohol. "Happy birthday." He laughs happily and says thanks, inviting me inside. Kevin's house is modest, but nice.

"Bebe is already here," he tells me. "She's in the living room with Clyde, Nichole and Token."

"Okay," I grin. "Thanks, dude."

I turn into the living room and spot them with minor difficulty. The room is quite full. I push my way past some people dancing and greet them.

"Hey," I say.

"Kenny," Bebe smiles, leaning in for a kiss.

I peck her on the lips and say, "What's everyone drinking tonight?"

"A shot of melon liqueur, a shot of sourpuss and the rest is fruit punch," Bebe says. "It's heavenly."

"Rum and coke," Nichole chuckles.

"Beer for me," Clyde says.

"Same," Token adds.

"Nice." I nod my approval. "Bebe, make me one of them, will yah? I'm curious."

"Sure," she smiles and takes my arm, leading me to the kitchen. There's an island in the center of the room with quite a few bottles of liquor – many empty or half full. I spot the six pack i just brought over sitting there. There's only two beers left. I guess that's a good thing.

"Is Craig here?" I can't help but wonder.

"Clyde said he would be," she murmurs offhandedly as she pours green liquid into a plastic cup. "Why?"

"Just wondering," I shrug. "Him and Clyde are best pals, right?"

"Yeah," she nods.

I watch as she mixes the drink. "Did you see Eric, Kyle or Stan?"

"Nope," she shakes her head. "Wendy is here, though."

"Yeah, Stan's a little heartbroken because of her," I say. She hands me the drink and I take a sip. "Mm, melony. Hell, tastes damn good. I bet you could get drunk off these pretty effortlessly."

"Be careful," she warns me, laughing lightly. "It's definitely stronger than it tastes."

I nod. "Duly noted."

A minute later, Eric, Kyle and Stan walk into the kitchen. "Speak of the devil," I laugh. "Or, should I say _devils_."

Kyle and Stan grin while Eric immediately asks, "What the fuck are you drinking?"

I offer him a sip and as soon as he gets a taste, he grimaces, "That's a foofoo drink." He approaches the island and pours himself a cup of straight scotch. Yuck. Stan mixes himself a rum and coke before making Kyle a gin and tonic.

"Well," I say, raising my glass. "Have a good night."

I throw an arm around Bebe and the two of us leave the room.

* * *

As the night goes on, everyone gets pleasantly and unpleasantly wasted. Stan throws up around eleven and Eric laughs at him. "Dude, you're worse than a kid!"

People on the dance floor are pretty much humping one another and I know for a fact that many of them are running on more than just alcohol. Uppers, I'm betting. Yuck. I like to avoid that shit. As I scan the room for Bebe, I find Craig instead. "Hey," I shout over the music.

He holds up a hand, offering a less than enthusiastic wave.

"Seen Bebe?" I ask him, just for the sake of something to say.

"With Clyde," he informs, pointing to a door. "I think they're in the basement watching TV. They probably wanted to escape the crowd and go somewhere a bit quieter."

"Oh," I say. Well, I'll let them be.

"Clyde likes your girlfriend," Craig suddenly mentions.

"Does he?" I ask. Of course I already knew it. He's kind of obvious with the way he moons over her. He's loved her for a long, long time. Lots of guys like my girlfriend. She's beautiful. She has a heavenly shape and all that, but she's also a really easygoing gal who's not afraid to be herself. If I wasn't dating her, I'd probably want her, too.

Craig simply nods.

"We're not exclusive," I tell him. "I mean, if Bebe wanted to give him a taste, she could go right ahead."

"You're in an open relationship?" Craig asks.

I nod. "I love Bebe and she loves me. We have great sex and we like spending time together, but we also enjoy seeing other people. We're both very social beings. I think we both know that we aren't quite right for each other… but until it really sinks in and we fall for other people, we're going to keep this going."

"That's stupid," Craig says, giving me his two cents.

I just laugh. "What does Craig Tucker know about relationships? Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

"No…"

"A boyfriend?" I ask in a slightly mocking tone. I'm just being a dick. I've got nothing against two guys going at it. Hell, I've made out with a few dudes. Fuck it, I've even done more than that. I won't bother denying it happened. What can I say? I'm insatiable. However, no boy has been up my ass. That was just Bebe with her strap on dildo.

"No," Craig murmurs.

"Have you ever had sex?"

He scoffs at me. "That's none of your business."

Well, I can't disagree with that. "Actually," I decide to mention, "You owe me a truth."

"Oh, right…" He frowns, looking like he's trying to think up something dull. "Okay. My favourite movie is _Stand By Me_."

"Heh, I like that one, too," I say. Honestly, it just reminds me of my childhood. So many crazy adventures.

"Your turn."

"I slept with a guy before," I tell him.

"All your secrets are sexual…" he notes somewhat distastefully.

"So?" I shrug. "Those are the best kind."

"Are they?"

"Yeah," I insist, "but would you prefer something else?"

"I don't know," he says.

I grin and lean forward. "Just say what you want Craig. For once in your life, just say it."

"Fine," he mutters. "I don't want your sexual history. Tell me something else."

"See? It's easy to say what you want." I pause, tapping my chin with my pointer finger. "I'm…" I trail off. I'm kind of at a loss. What can I tell him? All I really have are sex stories. I don't have any favourite movies or books. There are movies and books I like, but I don't know if I have a favourite. I don't think I can pick. I like music, too, but once again I don't have any favourites. I die a lot, but I can't exactly bring that up in a normal conversation, so I let out a sigh and admit, "I don't know myself very well."

Craig tilts his head to the side. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean exactly what I said – I don't know myself. I don't know what my favourite movie is. I don't know what my favourite colour is, or what my favourite band is. I don't have any pets and if I did they probably wouldn't even have names. I feel like I know everyone else better than I know myself… and you know what? I'm only realizing that right now."

He frowns. I'm not sure if it's a gesture of sympathy, or if it's just his normal face. Craig rarely smiles. He's always frowning and that's probably why everyone likes him so much. He's got the sad, broody thing going on and everyone loves to glamorize that flavor of bullshit. "Well, then," he starts, "I know this game is a way for you to get to know me… but maybe you can also look at it as a way for you to get to know yourself."

I smile at the idea. "Yeah, maybe…" I toss an arm around him and say, "You, my friend, need a drink." He doesn't protest as I drag him to the kitchen. I make him a stiff rum and coke and he cringes when he takes a sip.

"This is fucking awful," he states.

"I know," I snort, making myself another drink, "but it'll getcha hella turnt."

He shrugs and takes another sip. As it gets later, I soon learn that drunken Craig isn't very different than sober Craig. I see Stan passed out on Kyle's lap and Kyle looks thoroughly unimpressed with his super best pal. Eric has probably left by now. There are lots of kids in Stan's position, all passed out on top of each other. Good thing Kevin's parents are in China. Sucks they're away for their son's birthday, but if they came home to this mess, I bet they'd be pissed as hell.

* * *

The following morning, I wake up with a hangover more painful than a Madonna concert and it puts me to a screeching halt as I try to sit up. "Okay, timber…" I mutter to myself, lying back down. I grab my cellphone from the floor next to my mattress and dim the screen before texting Craig.

YOU: _awaaaaaake?_

He replies a few minutes later –

CRAIG: _No_.

YOU: _hungover?_

CRAIG: _A bit._

YOU: _sameeeee hurts like a bithc_

CRAIG: _That sucks._

YOU:_so tell me another fact about yo fine self_

CRAIG: _I hate Christmas. _

YOU: _wow really_

CRAIG: _Yep. Hate it. Your turn._

I want to ask him why, but I know he isn't going to tell me so I shrug it off for now. I'll find out soon enough, I'm sure.

YOU: _when i was 8 i went to a music school in romania_

CRAIG: _That's interesting._

He probably doesn't find it all that interesting. Hell, I don't even find it all that interesting. Maybe the boring one here is me.

* * *

Bebe comes over later on in the day. "Hey, your mum let me in," she says, holding up a brown paper bag. She brings me McDonalds and as I eat it, she goes downstairs to grab acetaminophen and a glass of water.

"Here," she hands me the two. I down the pills with the water and thank her.

"How's your head?" she asks.

"Hurts," I pout.

"Want a cold cloth?" she offers.

"Ah, you're too good to me," I tell her. After I'm done the burger, I lie back down. She gets rid of the garbage and puts the cloth on my forehead before lying down next to me.

"You'll feel better soon now that you've got some food and drink in you," she says.

"Why are you so damn good to me?" I wonder.

"I'm good to you because you deserve it," she says, playing with my hair.

"Do I?" I wonder, closing my eyes and letting myself get lost in the movements of her hands.

"Yes," she insists. "We may have a strange relationship and people may not understand it, but it works for what it is. I love you and you love me. It's a different kind of love, but it _is_ love."

"Yeah," I whisper.

"You treat me well," she adds. "Better than any other guy I've been with. You're gentle, you're kind… you don't say stupid things. You're sensitive. You're not afraid to cry. You're not afraid to let me peg you…" She chuckles after the last comment.

I let out a tired laugh. "Felt good," I admit.

"You make a pretty girl," she continues. "I like that you'll shamelessly wear dresses. Most boys find it embarrassing, but you're not like them."

"Heh," I snicker. In the wise words of Eric Cartman, everyone wants to be a chick sometimes. He knows this just as well as I do.

"Mm," she muses. "I remember thinking you were gorgeous the first time I saw you without your parka on. I got so used to seeing you wearing it, I almost forgot you had a face. You were just a pair of bright, blue eyes. Because of that, I was never really curious as to what you might've looked like. Wendy told me that Stan told her you were blond… but that's all I really knew."

"I was self-conscious," I say. It's true. I was malnourished. That changed as I got older. Stan began to notice. I was withering away, but he put a stop to it. He kept me fed. It's embarrassing, but I'm thankful for him. My parents have smartened up over the years. Yeah, they're still dealers and druggies and assholes, but at least they keep us fed. It's funny… Stan noticed me withering away but he never noticed the same thing happening to Kyle. Maybe he just didn't want to. We were two spectacularly different cases.

"I know you were," Bebe says softly. "You've had a hard time of things, but you're still one of the best people around. You never let the bad things get to you… You're kind of my hero, you know."

"Am I?"

"Yeah."

"That's really nice, Bebe," I say, genuinely.

I feel her kiss the corner of my mouth before going back to playing with my hair. "I like taking care of you. I'm not saying you need to be taken care of, but there are times when it's reassuring."

"Yeah," I agree.

"When we were fourteen, I saw you for the first time. It's weird. I mean, I've known you for most of my life and I never saw you. I remember that day. It was an overnight fieldtrip to Denver. Sports or something, right? All the boys were acting up and running through the hotel hallways… The teachers were trying to get them back into their rooms, but they were rowdy. Then there was you. You were just standing there, watching your friends act like idiots. You had pyjama pants on and a grey t-shirt with holes in it, yet you looked like some ethereal being. Your hair was wild and blond. Your skin was bronzed. Your eyes were the bluest blue. I felt my lips part and I just stared. I should have known who you were by the eyes, but I didn't, so I asked Wendy. She said she didn't know, so I just kept watching. Stan, Kyle and Eric returned a few minutes later. Stan threw an arm around you and said your name. Kenny. Then the teacher shoved you all back into your room. I was taken aback."

I can't help but chuckle. "You make me sound like an angel or something."

"Oh, you're no angel," she chuckles along with me. "But I swear, for a minute I thought you might've been. I just couldn't believe that you were who you were. I couldn't believe I had been fawning over the little pervert Kenny McCormick."

"Heh…"

"I was really happy when you asked me out," she continues. "I wanted you to. In a way, you were pretty and new and I wanted to know you. Wendy warned me against it. She said you had a bad rep. You were a bad boy. You lost your virginity at age twelve and she told me time and time again to be careful. I wasn't swayed. I was determined. I wanted to get to know you. Now that I do, I'm so incredibly glad. You're a beautiful person, inside and out."

"So are you," I say, opening my eyes slightly and glancing at her through my lashes.

She is smiling. "You're sweet."

I smile back at her before closing my eyes again.

"I don't want to sound shallow," she says.

"You don't sound shallow."

"When you start to love someone, their looks begin to melt away," she says. "It's something I never used to understand. I think I'd still adore you even if you suddenly gained fifty pounds of fat and had warts on your face."

I snicker at that. "It won't happen."

"But if it did… I'd still feel the way I feel now. You'll still be beautiful to me. You'll always be beautiful. I think we're soul mates. I don't think soul mates are always a romantic thing. It's just… the perfect friendship. Two kindred spirits. I think that's us. I think that's our kind of love."

"Why are you saying all this stuff?" I murmur.

"We can talk more later on," she promises. "I'm sorry I'm keeping you awake."

"It's fine," I tell her.

"Sleep for now," she insists.

"Bebe?" I say her name.

"What is it?" she asks.

"I love you."

She takes the cloth off and kisses my forehead. "I love you, too," she says, turning the cloth onto the cold side and putting it back on my brow. She lies down again, her head resting against my shoulder. She says nothing more and I feel myself dozing off.


	3. KB: Count to ten and breathe

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Thank you all for the nice reviews :) **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

Deep down, I know it's not normal. I know it, but I can't stop. I can admit it to myself, but when someone else says it I just get angry. I wish I wasn't this way, but I can't help it. It's just something I need to do.

I stare into the sink, down at the running water. My hands are starting to hurt but I still can't stop. Why? I don't know.

Stan is shouting at me again. "Get the fuck out, Kyle!" he demands. He doesn't understand that I can't. He doesn't understand.

It's fairly early. I've decided that if everyone is going to be hung over, we should probably postpone the homework until Sunday. Stan is hung over and that means he's in a worse mood than usual. He got sick last night and nearly missed the toilet in Kevin's house. Cartman thought that was absolutely hilarious. I didn't think it was so funny. I took care of Stan for the night and he fell asleep on my lap. Poor Stan. I woke him up an hour later and told him I'd take him home but he begged me not to. That's why we're at my house. My mother got angry when I dragged Stan through the door. She knew he was drunk. It was all too obvious. "I have half a mind to call his mother," she snapped. I straight up told her it wouldn't have made a difference because Stan's parents are too busy with each other right now. They're fighting a lot, Stan says. That's why he didn't want to go home and that's why my mom excused the drinking. Thankfully, I was mostly sober.

Stan says my house is quieter and I found that funny because my house isn't very quiet. My mom yells a lot and she's always frantic. My dad is always talking on the phone to clients and arranging appointments. Ike always reads his reports out loud to himself. But I suppose all of that is better than having to listen to your own parents yell hate-words at each other. I don't think I could handle it if my parents started doing that. I think I'd just cry.

Speaking of crying, I'm horrifically embarrassed that I got so upset in front of Cartman, Stan and Kenny about the alphabetical order of my books. I'm glad Cartman didn't laugh at me for it. I think that would have made everything worse. Cartman is an awful person. I don't know why he thought that would be funny. It wasn't funny.

Ever since the dumb ass ruined my shelf, I've been repeatedly checking it to make sure it's in correct order. I'm so worried something will happen. I don't think I could handle that.

"KYLE BROFLOVSKI GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE BATHROOM RIGHT NOW OR I'LL COME IN THERE AND FORCE YOU OUT!" Stan snaps loudly, probably making his headache worse. "Your mother told me the painkillers are in the bathroom cabinet so let me the fuck in!"

He's worked up. If he doesn't calm down my mom is going to tell him to leave. She'll tell him to collect himself and she'll grab her keys and drive him home. He'll probably puke in the car and she'll get angrier than she already is. No one wants to see my mom at her maddest. I hate seeing it. I hate it. I don't want her to get angry and have to yell at Stan because I'll have to hear it. I don't even want to hear it… Fuck, I need to stop thinking about it.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

I turn the taps off and dry my hands before turning the light switch off, tapping it twice and leaving the bathroom.

"Fucking finally," Stan snaps, turning the light back on and sifting through the medicine cabinet. He grabs the Tylenol and dry swallows two pills.

"Stop yelling…" I tell him, quietly returning to my bedroom. I take a bottle of lotion from my nightstand and pour a thumbprint sized bead of it into the palm of my hand before placing it back in its spot. I moisturize my hands and try to get rid of the painful feeling.

Stan walks in a moment later. "Sorry," he murmurs. He sits down on my bed and his eyes narrow. "What the fuck is this?" he snaps, grabbing my wrists and examining my hands.

"What?" I ask.

"Your hands…" he says in a murmur, staring down at them.

I get self-conscious. I curl my fingers to form fists and say, "Stop staring." I rip my hands out of his iron grip and close my eyes.

"They're bleeding," he mentions. "That's not normal…"

"Shut up."

"Dude… washing your hands until they're cracked is a fuckin' problem."

"No, it's not," I insist. I open my eyes and stare down at them. How ugly…

"See?" he sighs. "Even you don't believe yourself. Deep down, you _know_ it's a problem."

"Shut up," I tell him again. "Let's do something."

We go downstairs and play on the Xbox for a while. When my mother announces that it's dinner time, she invites Stan to stay and eat with us. He accepts and dinner is awkward. My parents talk about school. They ask about grades and upcoming projects. "School just started…" I remind them, shifting food around on my plate. "I didn't get any grades back yet."

"Well, he sure to tell us when you do," my mom says.

"I will," I promise. I suddenly feel anxious.

* * *

After eating, I tell Stan to go upstairs and say I'll follow him in a few minutes.

"Mom?"

"What is it, Bubbelah?" she asks offhandedly as she tidies the kitchen. Ike is doing the dishes. I don't like to. I hate getting wet food all over my hands.

"Stan is staying over again tonight…" I mention.

"Okay," she says, "but only because it's a weekend." I think she realizes that he doesn't want to be home right now.

I nod and then follow Stan upstairs. It's almost 7PM now and I begin having unpleasant thoughts again. I pause in the doorway and close my eyes. "Stop…" I mutter to myself, hitting myself in the head repeatedly. Suddenly it feels stuffy.

"Kyle…?" Stan says my name, raising an eyebrow at me from his seat on my bed.

"Be right back," I announce. I turn around and go to the bathroom. I turn on the light, lock the door and face the sink. I turn on the taps and press the soap dispenser twice, lathering my hands before rinsing them. I watch the water stream over my hands and I feel like I can breathe again. Once the soap is gone, I dry my hands and then press the soap dispenser two more times, rinsing them off yet again. I do this over and over and over and over until I feel just so.

When I return to my room, I instruct Stan to turn around. He does so and I take off my sweater and put on a long-sleeved shirt that I use for sleeping. I take off my khakis and put on a pair of plaid pajama pants, and then Stan watches me make the bed. He rolls his eyes and takes his jeans off so he's left in boxer shorts and his t-shirt.

"You can borrow pyjamas," I offer.

"Nah, it's fine," he insists.

Once the bed is made, I gesture for him to get in first. I turn off the lights, tap it twice and get in after him. It's better if we go to bed earlier since Stan is still hung over.

"Why do you do that thing?" he asks, rolling to face me.

"What thing?"

"Tapping the light switch."

"I don't know," I admit. "I just want to make sure they're off all the way."

"They are, though… They always are. You don't need to check. It's not even just the light switches, it's everything! You make your bed before you sleep in it… Who the hell does that? You arrange your books alphabetically and cry when they get messed up. You wash your hands for hours. I mean… don't you realize what a waste of time all of that shit is?"

I close my eyes, not wanting to look at him. "Never mind it, Stan. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"It's retarded, Kyle…"

"Shut up," I tell him. I don't want him to be angry. He just doesn't understand. I can't make him understand. He doesn't listen.

"No," he says.

"Yes."

"No. Just admit it. Say you have a fucking problem."

I open my eyes. "It's not easy, Stan! It's not fun!"

"Then stop," he suggests, like it's the easiest thing in the world.

"I. Fucking. Can't!" I shout a little too loudly.

"But why?" he asks.

I let out a sigh. "I don't know why."

"Think about it – you probably do know."

"I don't!" I shout again.

He clicks his tongue and relents. "Tsk, fine…"

He rolls over so I'm forced to stare at his back. "Are you mad?" I ask quietly. I hate when people are angry with me.

"No," he says warily.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," he insists. "I never get mad at you."

"Really?"

"Really."

* * *

The following morning, I wake up before Stan and take a shower. I wash my hair with shampoo and wash my body with soap, then dry off. I wrap the towel around my waist and go back to my room, where Stan is still unconscious. Good. I hate being seen changing. That's why gym class is always the worst. I sift through my closet and pull out a t-shirt and jeans before throwing them on.

I hear Stan let out a groan that lets me know he just woke up. "Kyle?" he murmurs groggily.

Fuck. "Yes?" I say evenly, glancing at him. He still looks tired and his face is growing stubbly.

"Are Kenny and Cartman coming over?" he asks.

"That's the plan," I tell him.

"Mm'kay," he mumbles, forcing himself into a sitting position.

Once I'm dressed I grab my phone from my nightstand and shoot them both a text message, telling them to come over when they can. "You can go ahead and shower if you want," I say. "Or get yourself a bowl of cereal."

"Okay," Stan says. He gets out of bed and stretches his limbs before leaving the room. I follow him downstairs, where my mom greets us with a somewhat suppressed look.

"Stan," she starts, "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Good," he says, forcing a sheepish smile. "Sorry for causing trouble yesterday and the night before that."

She sighs and waves a dismissive hand. "You're never trouble, dear." She doesn't stay upset with Stan. I think she looks at him like a third son, which is also why she yells at him so much.

"Thanks, Sheila."

We both have cereal for breakfast and as we're seated at the table, the doorbell rings. My mom goes to answer it and brings Kenny with her when she returns. "Hey, guys," he greets. "Stan, nice outfit. You certainly look ready for the day," he adds, amused. He's wrapped in his familiar parka yet again.

Stan rolls his eyes. "I haven't been home and Kyle's clothes probably won't fit me. He's way shorter."

"Sucks," Kenny says with little sympathy.

"Where's stupid Cartman?" I ask.

Kenny snickers. "I have no clue, dude."

Once Stan is finished his cereal, he puts the bowl in the dish washer and says, "I'm going to have a shower… because I think I desperately need it."

I simply nod, watching him go upstairs and when I turn my head, Kenny is grinning at me.

"What?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing," he sings mischievously.

I roll my eyes at him and stare down at my cereal bowl. "Why do you always do that?" I ask.

"Do what?"

"Act all weird and insist that it's nothing…"

He just smiles at me. "I don't know. Why do _you_ do it?"

I let out a sharp sigh and decide that I'm full. I discard my bowl and leave the kitchen. Kenny follows me upstairs and into my room, flopping onto my unmade bed.

"Kyle… you _are_ eating, aren't you?" he asks carefully.

"Yeah," I tell him mechanically. "I'm eating."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Kenny."

"I don't want you to get sick again…" he whispers. "Stan doesn't want you to get sick again, either."

For a moment, I just smile at him. "I was never sick," I tell him.

"You were, Kyle. We were fifteen and you were so fucking small. Do you remember what happened? You fell and you just broke… All you did was fall, but you broke your arm. That's not normal, Kyle… Bones aren't supposed to break like that. I can't watch it happen again, I fucking can't. You –"

"Stop." I cut him off, not wanting to hear him tell me what he thinks I am and am not. "I'm fine… I was fine…" I mumble the words, not knowing which is true. Maybe neither of them is true. "Never sick. Always fine… I'm normal."

"Just fucking listen to yourself," he scoffs warily. "You're trying so hard to convince yourself it's true, aren't you? You're not perfect… but you want to be."

"Fuck off, Kenny," I say.

"No."

I reach for my nightstand and open the drawer, grabbing the half empty package of cigarettes. I take one, lighting it.

"Why the hell do you smoke those damn things?" Kenny asks. "Your mother would destroy you if she found out."

"You smoke them, too," I point out. Besides, I don't think my mom would chastise me about smoking when there are more important things at hand for her these days.

"You have one life, Kyle," he notes. "I have an infinite amount."

"Fuck. Off." I say once more, with more intent.

He shakes his head, not at all swayed by my tone. "How much do you weigh?"

"I'm a hundred and fifteen pounds," I say. "For a male that is five foot four, that's fine."

Kenny opens his mouth to respond but Stan enters a few, wet and wrapped in a towel. I share a look with Kenny and we both know the conversation is finished; however, I have a feeling we'll pick it up again eventually.

"I, uh… have no clothes," Stan says. "I might have to squeeze into yours."

I wander towards my closet and give him my baggiest t-shirt. It's one I use for sleeping. "Here," I say. "This will fit…" He pulls it on and it fits well. I continue sifting through my things to try and find a pair of loose fitting sweatpants. "Uh…" I pause, picking up a pair of sweatpants that are a size too big. "These… They did used to be yours... they might still fit?"

He takes them and holds them up. "We'll see…" he murmurs, shamelessly dropping the towel.

I flush, while Kenny laughs and then whistles. "Nice butt, Stud."

Stan flips him off, but he's laughing, too. He pulls the pants on and asks, "They're kinda tight…"

"You can't tell. They look fine," I tell him, though he's right. They're pretty tight. You can see... well, _everything_.

"I'll wash them and give 'em back to you sometime this week," Stan adds.

"Okay, no rush."

I hear the doorbell ring again and I hear the door open. "Cartman must be here," I say.

"Yeah," Kenny nods.

There are loud, stomping footsteps coming up the stairs and a moment later, Cartman swings open the door. "Howdy, bitches," he greets us.

"Cartman," I tersely greet him in return. "Since we're all here, let's get to work."


	4. SM: Spin the bottle

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Thank you, lovely reviewers! :)**

**Stan's POV**

* * *

It's Tuesday now. Kenny got detention for fighting during lunch break. What a fuckin' champ. He's always getting himself into shit, whether it's with teachers or cops. It's always authority figures. I think he has a little problem with authority figures. The cops don't hate Kenny, though. In their words, he's just a trouble maker. It's true enough. He has a good heart and he'll bear it to anyone, even the people who aren't worth it.

We are in English class right now. Kenny is fellating a sucker while staring at the teacher as she lectures. She seems distressed. I don't even think Kenny realizes what he's doing, so I nudge him.

"Dude… you might wanna stop that," I whisper.

"What?" He raises a brow, taking the sucker out of his mouth.

"You do realize what that looks like, don't you?" I ask. Then I decide to give him a visual. I curl my hand into a fist and make like I'm brushing my teeth. When my hand nears my mouth I tongue my cheek, giving him the cock-sucking visual. "Like you've got a knob in your mouth," I laugh.

"Oh," Kenny snickers quietly. "You're pretty good at that, Stan. Been practising?"

I just roll my eyes. Kenny likes candy almost as much as Cartman. Suckers are his favourite. He likes to have things in his mouth. He calls it his oral fixation and then winks.

"Quiet back there," the teacher warns us. She sounds tired and a little pathetic.

* * *

During our free period, all the dumbass kids decide to play spin the bottle in an empty classroom. Naturally, Kenny is all for it.

"What are we? Twelve years old?" Kyle snaps. He, on the other hand, is not so into the idea of touching lips with the other kids.

"It's a game, Kyle," Kenny says, patting his shoulder. "It's fun."

"I don't want to play," he says. "I hate those juvenile games."

"Just give 'er a try," I add. "What's the harm?"

So, we drag Kyle with us to the room, where there's a circle of other seniors who have the same free period. Wendy and Bebe wave us towards them and we all squeeze together.

"I feel so fucking nostalgic," I admit with a little chuckle.

"I know, right?" Wendy giggles.

Lola is the first to spin. It lands on Jason and the two of them share a brief peck. No spit. From there, it goes clockwise. Next is Annie, then Heidi, Jason, Butters, Sally and finally it's my turn. My hand is shaky slightly and I'm afraid I might get someone I desperately don't want to touch lips with... Like Wendy. Nonetheless, I give it a spin and who does it land on? Kenny motherfuckin' McCormick, who is sitting next to Kyle. This will, surprisingly, be the day's _first_ same sex kiss.

I glance at him and I can't help but think back to what Wendy said. Experiment, right? What's the harm? So I shrug off the awkward thoughts and lean across Kyle to meet Kenny, who is seated next to him. We share a few sloppy, open mouthed kiss before tonguing it and a few of the guys whistle tauntingly.

"Hot damn," Clyde laughs. "Things are getting' heated between McCormick and Marsh."

Bebe and Wendy snicker after me and Kenny break apart.

"You're a good kisser," I tell him, winking.

"You too, babe," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Kyle looks somewhat disdainful. I'm not quite sure why. It's his turn now and he says, "I don't want to."

"C'mon, Kyle," I say, probably peer pressuring him. "We're all doing it."

He puffs up his cheek and relents, reaching forward and spinning the bottle. "Fuckin' hell, I've been swayed by peer pressure," he murmurs. It lands on Bebe and he gives Kenny a strange look, as if he's asking permission.

"Go for it, dude," Kenny says.

Bebe gives Kyle a kind smile as she moves towards him. She probably senses his timidity. They share a chaste kiss and I say, "See? It's nice, right?" I can't help but wonder if Kyle has kissed anyone since the first time he kissed Bebe in my old clubhouse. That was so long ago. Kissing is nice. It's innocent.

Now it's Kenny's turn. He spins it and the bottle points to Butters. Wendy spins and it points to Annie. Bebe spins and it points to Clyde, who looks like he's on cloud nine as Bebe gives him a very generous smooch. Kenny is smiling at the sight. I _really_ don't get how he can share his girlfriend and not get jealous. I don't get how Bebe can share Kenny and not get jealous. Their relationship is so strange. I never understood it, but it seems to work for them and I guess that's what really matters.

Kiss after kiss happens and when it's my turn again, the bottle lands on Wendy. Fuck. I stare at her for a minute and she crawls over to me, giving me a peck on the corner of my mouth. Once again, fuck.

It's now Kyle's turn and who does the bottle point to? Me. He's so rigid I'm somewhat worried. "We don't have to, if you don't want…" I tell him quietly.

He shakes his head. "It's fine," he says. He leans forward and puts a hand on my cheek. The kiss is brief and nowhere near as spitty as the kiss with Kenny was, but it still feels important. I don't know why. Maybe because Kyle is important.

"Sweet," Bebe coos.

What a weird day this has been thus far. The bell rings a few minutes later and Kenny stands up before offering to help Bebe up. She takes his hand and he pulls her to her feet. They begin making out after and it's a bit weird to watch. Me and Kyle stand up a moment later. "Hurry or you'll be late," I warn Kenny and Bebe to wrap things up before leaving and walking to last period with Kyle.

All I can do is thank Christ that Cartman doesn't have the same free as us. Imagine having to kiss him? Ew.

* * *

After school, Kyle and I find Kenny before he can get himself into another fight. After we grab him, we meet Cartman in front of the school and walk home. We tell him about the game of spin the bottle and he laughs.

"Who'd you all hafta kiss?" he asks.

"I kissed Kenny, Wendy and Kyle," I snicker.

"Gay," Cartman chortles. "Musta been fuckin' awkward since you got dumped by the hippie bitch."

"Don't call her that, Tits," I snap.

He dismisses me. "What about you, poor boy?"

"Stan and Butters," Kenny snorts.

"Jew?"

"Bebe and Stan," Kyle informs, the words muffled by the cigarette between his lips.

"Glad I don't have my free at the same time as you fags," Cartman says. "I'm so not looking to gay it up with you losers."

"I think we're all pretty fucking happy you weren't there," Kyle agrees tartly.

Cartman then smiles deviously. "Then again… maybe it would've been fun. How would you feel about me kissing your ex-girlfriend, Stan?"

"You like her or something?" I ask, raising a brow.

"No," he insists. "I just think you'd hate it… Plus, I guess the bitch is hot."

"She's beautiful," I correct, "and not a bitch."

Cartman rolls his eyes.

I laugh, recalling a certain piece of information. "Dude, you do realize Wendy is part Arab, right?" I ask, fully aware of his many racist thoughts.

"What?" he snaps.

"Uh, yeah. She's fluent in Arabic. Her maternal grandmother is Middle Eastern."

"Oh, Christ," he murmurs.

Kyle rolls his eyes, throwing his cigarette onto the slushy pavement. "Racist fuck."

* * *

Kyle comes home with me. After we part ways with Kenny and Cartman, he asks, "Do you think it's weird?"

"Do I think what's weird?" I wonder.

"The fact that we kissed? Or that you kissed Kenny?" he specifies.

"Not really," I say. "If you asked me a year ago I'd probably think yeah, but nah. It's not weird." I guess I'll thank Wendy for that.

"Okay," he murmurs as we near my doorstep. "We're friends, right?" he asks.

"No, we're _best_ friends," I say, pausing and turning to him. "What's this about?"

He shakes his head. "It's nothing."

"Kyle…"

"Really," he insists, smiling. "It's nothing."

"All right," I relent softly, finally opening the door. We walk inside and I don't bother announcing our arrival.

"Are your parents here?" Kyle asks.

"I don't know," I admit. "But it's pretty quiet, so I'm gonna go ahead and say probably not."

Kyle gives me a sympathetic look. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I tell him. "It's just fucking annoying… I hate being home."

"Well, you're always welcome at my house."

I snicker at that. "Really?"

"Yes, really." He gives me a pointed stare. "My mom isn't going to force you to leave if you're having family trouble. She's a bit… extreme… but she's not heartless."

"Okay," I chuckle. "Thanks, Kyle."

"Sure, Stan."

"Want a bite to eat or something?" I offer.

"No, I'm –" he starts, but after the _no_, I cut him off.

"I'll make us something to eat," I insist. I walk into the kitchen and he lets out a sigh, following me.

"Fine," he says. He sits down at the table and I make a sandwich on a hoagie roll, cutting it through the middle and offering Kyle half of it.

I sit across from him and he looks at me accusingly. "I know what you're thinking, Stanley Randall Marsh," he states. "You're thinking, '_Is he going to eat it? Will he finish it_?' Right?"

Guilty. "Yeah," I murmur.

He opens his mouth and takes a bite as if proving a point. "See? I'm eating."

"Right," I mumble. "Okay."

"It's always on your mind, isn't it?" he asks after swallowing.

"Yeah," I admit.

"Well, it shouldn't be. I'm fine."

"I can't help it, Kyle," I say. Yeah, he looks good now. He looks healthy, but I'm still worried he'll fall back into bad habits. It's always in the front of my mind. "I care about you… I fuckin' love you. You're my best friend."

"I know, Stan," he replies.

For a few minutes, we say nothing more. We just eat silently. I finish my plate and so does Kyle. I wonder why his eating used to be so…_disordered_. Sometimes I think it's all Sheila's fault. She controls the lives of both her sons, trying hard to mould them into perfect little men. Ike just seems to deal with it better. He just… goes with the flow. Then again, I know I'm not supposed to throw around blame like this. It doesn't fix anything.

The hand washing and other stuff got worse after Kyle got better. Maybe the eating has something to do with it. I don't know. I never really understood this kind of thing. I did a little research, though. It sounds like he definitely has obsessive compulsive disorder. Apparently it's not something that can be controlled, so I should probably try being a little more sensitive about it. I read that OCD is found in a lot of people with eating problems, though they're not necessarily connected… but maybe, in Kyle's case, they are.

I take the plates, put them in the dish washer and the two of us go upstairs. As we reach the top, I see my parents' bedroom door open at the end of the hallway.

"One sec," I murmur to Kyle as I approach the room. Inside, my mother is in bed. I move closer and stare at her. She looks like she's been crying and I feel my heart sink. "Mom?" I call softly, shaking her.

She opens her eyes a moment later. "Hi, sweetheart…"

"Where's Dad?" I ask, voice wavering because I already know the answer. "Is he at work…?"

"No, honey," she says sadly. "He's not at work… Your father... He left."

"Oh," I whisper. I turn around and walk back into the hallway in somewhat of a daze. I go to my own room, where Kyle is sitting cross legged on my bed.

"Stan…?" He frowns, probably realizing something is very wrong. "What is it?"

"My dad left," I murmur. I let out a few breaths and rub my hands down my face. I think it's only beginning to sink in.

Kyle looks apologetic, but he doesn't speak.

"Fuck…" I say before shouting it, "Fuck!" Then my eyes start watering and Kyle doesn't hesitate to approach me. Not a word leaves his mouth before he wraps his arms around me and not a word leaves his mouth after either. My mom can probably hear me, but I don't care. I want her to.


	5. KM: When the pieces shatter

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**I always make Karen soft spoken and sweet, so I wanted to try something quite different with her this time haha. **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

It's 6PM on a Friday night. I didn't get in any fights today. When I arrive home, I walk upstairs and see that the bathroom door is open. I peek inside and see Karen doing her hair. "Where are you going?" I ask her. She's still wearing the clothes she had on in school - jeans and a plain, old t-shirt.

"To Ruby's," she says. I know that's a lie because if she was just going to Ruby's house, she wouldn't be curling her hair. She's probably going to a party and then crashing at Ruby's.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," she says, carefully watching herself in the mirror so she doesn't burn herself on the curling iron. "Last time I was there, Craig had a few friends over."

"Friends?" I ask. "Like Clyde and Token?"

"No, Kenny," she smiles a strange sort of smile, like she knows a secret. "Not those kinds of friends."

"Then… who?" I pry, feeling strangely curious.

"Ruby says Craig's like a _super_-slut," Karen reveals with a little giggle. "Apparently one of Thomas's old drinking buddies took advantage of him a few years back. Now she says he has people over a lot and they all have orgies in his bedroom. She says their daddy don't care. He just ignores the things his kids do. When Craig has _friends_ over, he ignores the moaning and shouting. I wasn't able to ignore it so easily. He sounds like he's quite the aggressive fuck."

I grimace. How can Thomas sit idle and let Craig do that kind of shit?

"I thought it was funny," Karen continues. "Craig is so stoic, I think I'd like to see that side of him. I'd like to see what was happening on the other side of his bedroom door."

"Don't get any ideas," I warn her.

She smiles again. "Don't worry, Kenny. I won't fuck your friend… but you want to fuck him, don't you? I don't blame you. He's a nice looking boy."

"No," I say… but maybe I'm lying. Maybe I do want to fuck him.

She shrugs dismissively. "Ruby is no different, though. So, she can't really trash talk her brother too much."

"Lovely," I say sarcastically, mildly disturbed I'm having this conversation with my sister.

"Ruby said she'd fuck you," Karen continues. "She thinks you're pretty. She likes pretty boys. I told her that was fucking gross 'cause you're my brother and shit."

"Plus, she's fuckin' fifteen," I say. "I wouldn't fuck a fifteen year old."

Karen giggles some more.

"How does she even know what I look like?" I ask. Even in the summertime, I make sure I'm hidden.

"Once when she stayed over here, she saw you crossing the hallway from your bedroom to the bathroom. That was a few months back. She fawned over you for a good twenty minutes."

"You're talkative today," I note.

"I just feel like sharing secrets with my favourite big brother," she says somewhat cynically.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure that's it… I just think you like getting a rise out of people. You like to shock."

"You're right," she admits. "I do love it." Karen has changed a lot over the years. She never used to say much. She was a quiet child, but she's growing up. High school does hellish things to a person. We all learn eventually. "Do you know what Ruby Tucker is addicted to?" she asks me.

"No, what?"

"Lying," she explains. "She lies and she lies and she lies. Last year she told me about Craig's fuck buddies, but I didn't believe her until I heard it because I know how much she loves lying. Who knows if the other stuff she says about him is true, though. I think it gives her a thrill. It gives her a power rush, especially when people believe the lies she tells. She says once she's got someone trapped, it's like her mind has an orgasm. It's not physical; it's purely a mental kind of pleasure. Like brain fucking someone and completely dominating them. She says that to tell a good lie, you need to convince yourself it could be true."

"Hm," I murmur. I don't know why, but the thought of Craig in the midst of an orgy is ultimately unsettling. I don't really want to imagine it but I can't help it.

Karen smiles again, that same strange smile. "You're picturing it, aren't you? Perv."

"What?" I ask, slightly annoyed.

"Your head is full of Craig," she says. "You're picturing him getting fucked right now, aren't you? You dirty, little pervert. What does he look like? Do you wish it was you instead of a group of strangers? Do you want him all to yourself?"

"Fucking hell, Karen," I hiss. "I'm not having this conversation with my little sister. Shit."

"What do you like about Craig Tucker?" she pries.

"I don't know," I mumble.

"Yes, you do." She finishes curling her hair and unplugs the iron. "You like the fact that he's unattainable. That's why you want to get to know him. He's a big ol' mystery and you love those kinds of games. Play your cards right and he'll fall fast. That's the plan, right?"

"It's not…" I say. "I just want to get to know him." Fuck it, now I'm the one lying. It's definitely a love game.

"Sure, you do," she says with a scoff. "That's how it all starts, isn't it? You want to get to know a person. Why? Because they catch your attention. When you learn peoples' secrets, you can't help but learn to love them. You better be careful, dear brother. He might fall for you, but if you're not there to catch him the pieces are going to shatter."

"They'll shatter anyway," I say with a wary sigh.

Karen gives me a look of amusement before getting out a makeup bag from the drawer. She pulls out eyeshadows and powders and lipsticks and begins painting herself. It's like fine art. I've always thought there was something magical about make up. Sometimes, when I'm in the mood, I'll put on dresses and put on a wig and let Bebe do my makeup. A lot of the guys find it funny, but a lot of the girls think it's admirable. The first time I did it, no one believed it was me. I make a convincingly cute girl, believe it or not.

"He might take you down with him," she warns offhandedly, getting close to the mirror. Her movements are precise. She's done this many times before.

"Yeah, right," I snort.

"Ruby says Craig is philophobic," Karen says.

"What the fuck does that mean?" I ask.

"He's afraid of love… falling in love," she explains. "Craig has a lot of problems. He's all hopped up on these pills that he hopes will make him normal, but they don't work anymore. He's been overmedicated, like so many kids 'round here. I think he's burnt out now. He has a hard time feeling certain things and there are also things he's too afraid to feel. He's careful only to fuck around with the people who won't linger. That way he won't get attached. It never ends well when you get attached to something, especially when that _something_ is a person. Even after he falls in love, he will probably allow himself to be the kind of person who belongs to everyone because it's easier than belonging to just one. Love is indeed a scary thing. For people like Craig, it's a pain worse than death… So I'll say it again: be careful."

What a mouthful. "Why is Craig like that?" I ask.

"Ask him," Karen suggests.

"But you know, don't you?" I assume. I can tell by the way she's speaking.

"I know all," she says confidently, sounding a bit like me.

"Then just tell me," I demand warily.

"No," she sings.

"Why the hell not?" I growl.

"It's more fun this way."

"You seem to know everything in the world," I tell her somewhat bitterly.

"When you're quiet, you learn things," she says. "You know that as well as I do. There are things you just like to pretend you aren't aware of. Craig isn't that much of a mystery, you know. Sure, he's kind of psychotic… but in the end he's just another dumb kid with a story. This town is full of them as well as stupid winos, junkies, whores. They make the world go 'round."

Karen has a bad habit of talking down to people. She even does it to me. I'm the reason she is the way she is. Personality-wise, she's like my fucking carbon copy, though perhaps a little colder. Funny, she used to be so sweet. "Fucking hell, Karen," I sigh. "You're so patronizing sometimes. You think you're the fucking queen of the world. You're not. You're just another one of those dumb kids with a dumb story."

She shrugs and finishes putting on her makeup. She smacks her red lips a few times in the mirror and says, "I don't care. Come help me pick a dress."

"You're so not going to Ruby's, you little liar," I call her out as I follow her to her room.

"I am, though," she says. "We're just going to a party first." She holds up a red, strapless dress. "This?"

"No." I sift through her closet and pick her most modest dress. "This one."

She laughs. "What am I, a nun?" She takes the dress of the hanger and tosses it on the floor. She then holds up a tight, black dress that looks a little short.

I let out a sigh and leave the room as she gets dressed. I walk back to mine and check my cellphone for messages. None. I'm unpopular today. I flop onto my bed and sigh. Karen shows up in my doorway a minute later, wearing that short, black dress along with some fishnet tights and a pair of black flats. "How do I look?" she asks, spinning around.

"Like a hooker in the making," I tell her.

"Fuck you," she says.

I just laugh. "You look nice, Karen. Not at all like a hooker." She waves me off and runs down the stairs. I hear the front door swing open and she's gone.

I decide to shoot Craig a text and make him tell me a truth.

YOU_: fact of the day…?_

A few minutes later, he replies with –

CRAIG T: _My birthday is January 25__th__._

I snicker to myself. I should probably write it down. This week I've learned that Craig hates sweet things, he's a bit misanthropic, a movie buff, he's good at sewing, he can cook, and sometimes he watches anime with Clyde and Kevin. I thought the last one was funny.

YOU: _cool mines on march 22_

CRAIG T: _Great, but that doesn't count._

YOU: _fine i dont think ill attend uni_

CRAIG T: _Why not?_

YOU: _dont wanna_

CRAIG T: _Fair enough._

I just don't see a point in it, to be frank. I'll get a mundane job and I'll probably be content with it. I don't crave excitement the way some people do. I rather enjoy monotony. Hell, I guess I sound like Craig.

* * *

I decide to hang out with Bebe later on. I walk to her house and when I arrive, I take my parka off. We kiss and she leads me upstairs, where we fuck each other's brains out. It's nice to have sex with someone who loves you. You can always feel it. Craig is missing out. Emotionless fucks aren't all they're cracked up to be. I've learned that. Now I only fuck good friends and lovers.

"That was nice," Bebe sighs as we lay side by side.

"Yeah," I agree. "By the way, what was it that you wanted to talk about last weekend?" I ask. "I was hung over and you told me we'd talk later but when I mentioned it at school you just shook your head."

"I'm not sure yet," she admits.

"You'll tell me when you're ready?" I assume.

"I will," she says, offering me a smile. "Promise."

"Okay," I say, returning it.

"I just want you to know that I care," she adds, touching one of my cheeks.

"I know you care," I say. "You love me."

"That I do."

"And I love you."

"Yes," she says with a grin. "We're like soul mates."

"Yes," I chuckle. "Kind of like Stan and Kyle."

"You think they're soul mates?" she wonders.

"I know they're soul mates," I insist. "They need each other. I can see them having the kind of relationship we have."

"Me too," she admits. "When they kissed…" she trails off.

"Everyone in the room felt it," I finish her thought.

She nods against the pillow. "Everyone was quiet after it happened."

"I think everyone sees it apart from Stan and Kyle themselves."

"Stan is a touch dense, isn't he?" Bebe laughs. "And Kyle… he's timid."

"Yeah," I say. "They'll figure it all out soon enough. They'll be happy someday. Everything will work out. It always does."

"But first comes tragedy," Bebe adds knowingly.

"Of course," I agree. "Every relationship gets tested."

"What was ours?" she wonders.

"Hm," I muse for a moment. "Perhaps the type of test varies. For us, maybe it's the fact that we can share one another and not go green with envy."

"Yeah," she chuckles. "Perhaps."

* * *

I spend the rest of the night hanging out with Bebe. We don't do much. We just sit around, watch a movie and then we go for a walk. It's nice to spend time like this, not doing anything immensely important.

"What are you thinking about?" Bebe asks.

"Everything," I tell her.

"Naturally," she laughs.

I just smile. "Hey, what do you know about Craig Tucker?" I wonder.

"Craig?" she repeats. "You seem awfully interested in him lately."

"I am," I admit. "He has me curious. He's like a big mystery and I want to solve it."

"Well," she taps her chin. "I'm not really sure, you know. He's a bit antisocial, but you probably know that much. Clyde says he has a lot of problems and he doesn't deal with any of them… but I guess that's normal. Most people don't like to deal with their problems."

"Yeah," I agree sadly. "What problems does he have?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know. He's secretive and Clyde doesn't really talk about Craig. I think Craig would be angry if he did. Even though they're best friends, Craig still puts up a wall. He likes to keep people distant, I think. If it was up to Craig, I don't think Clyde would know any of his secrets… Unfortunately, secrets have a habit of coming out. It always happens eventually."

I can't help but agree with that. "I'm playing a game with him," I decide to say.

"A game?" she asks.

I nod. "Yes. I told Craig that he has to tell me one true thing about himself every day. In turn, I'll tell him one true thing about myself."

"How is the game won?" Bebe wonders.

"Whoever stops playing loses," I tell her.

She smirks at me. "It sounds to me," she starts sagely, "that the first one to become attached loses."

"Maybe," I snicker.

"I'm surprised you got Craig to agree to play a game like that," she says.

"Me, too," I admit. "I didn't think he'd go for it, but he surprised me… With people like Craig, it's only a matter of time before they snap. It always happens. No one can stay sane and be that fucking emotionless. It'll overflow soon enough. Walls are meant to be broken."

"Probably," she agrees.

"I want to be around when it comes down," I say. It makes me think back to what Karen said to me earlier. The pieces will shatter. I don't think I'll mind it so much. I'll pick them up.


	6. SM: What a night

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**We're having a big ol' snowstorm today. All schools are closed, even universities. Yay. **

**Stan's POV**

* * *

It's Friday night. I dragged Kyle out and we're at some retarded all age's club. The sign says all ages, but the kids in here are getting pretty fucked. It doesn't matter that we're minors; everyone is drunk and high off their ass, humping on the dance floor and whatever else. Welcome to South Park, where no one gives a shit.

Kyle and I are sitting on a sofa in the lounge room with Clyde, Lola and Wendy. We're allowing Clyde to rant about Bebe. He fucking loves her. I'm kind of drowning him out, though. It gets boring after a while.

"Bebe's a _prime_ goddess," he continues. Blah, blah, blah.

I spot Craig across the room making out with Annie Faulk probably just to spite poor Lola, who has an intense crush on him. Lola and Annie will probably fight about Craig later on and he won't give a damn. He'll just sit back and let the chaos unfold because that's the kind of asshole he is. Annie is sitting on his lap with her arms locked around his neck. He has his hands all over her perky tits and they both look oblivious to everything except themselves… though it's a little obvious that the last thing on Craig's mind is Annie.

Wendy shakes her head at the sight and puts her arm around a solemn looking Lola. She runs her hands through Lola's long, brown hair, but stays silent.

Craig and Annie get up and leave a moment later. They're probably going to fuck in the bathroom. By now Clyde is done ranting about Bebe and we're all uncomfortably quiet.

"I hate her!" Lola exclaims. "How could she do that?"

"She's probably drunk," I say, adding my two cents. "She'll probably apologize tomorrow."

"I don't care," Lola murmurs.

"You will," Wendy says gently.

Lola only sighs, not quite convinced and another uncomfortable silent unfolds. "Kyle, dude, what happened to your hands?" Clyde asks, making it even tenser.

"Nothing," Kyle says defensively, shoving his hands in his sweater pockets.

Everyone shares an awkward look, but Clyde is wise enough not to press the issue.

"Ugh," Lola gets up a few minutes later and Wendy doesn't hesitate to follow her. Me and Clyde share a look before standing and going after the two of them. I drag Kyle along and the group of us climb down the stairs and into the building's basement, where the toilets are located. Lola yanks open the door to the female bathroom and walks inside. Wendy goes in after her and since Clyde, Kyle and I are all dudes, we try not to pass the threshold. I just hold the door open so we don't miss the action. In the bathroom, we see Annie and Craig collecting themselves, looking like they just got done screwing. Annie is adjusting her skirt and Craig is zipping his pants back up.

"Oh, hi, hon," Annie says to Lola. Her tone is astoundingly careless.

"You fucking bitch," Lola whispers to her best friend. "And-and you…" She points at Craig, raising her voice. "You're an asshole! You knew I was into you! You fucking knew and you went and nailed my best friend!"

Craig doesn't say anything. He doesn't look guilty or upset at the accusation. He just looks stoic as ever. Then he smiles, walking past her. It's a very insincere and cold looking smile. It's actually the first time I've seen him wear anything apart from a frown.

"Dude, Craig," I grab his arm and pull him aside. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you pull that kind of stunt?"

"Fuck you, Marsh," he says, brushing me off. "Don't touch me."

"Craig…" Clyde cuts in, disappointment written on every inch of him. "What the fuck, man…? Seriously, why are you being such a dick?"

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry if my hedonism offends you, but I did nothing wrong," he says cynically before scoffing at us and continuing down the hallway.

"Jesus Christ," I murmur. "Why are you friends with him?"

"Sometimes I have no idea," Clyde sighs.

Back in the bathroom, things are getting heated in a bad way between Lola and Annie. Lola grabs a handful of Annie's curly hair and the fight begins. Chick fight. Shiiiit. Wendy tries to separate them but they just shove her and she falls. Punches are thrown a split second later and this is when Clyde and me intervene, pulling the two girls apart. Kyle, meanwhile, helps Wendy stand and the two of them hover near the door.

"C'mon," I say, "is Craig really worth this?"

Lola takes a deep breath, giving up and sinking into me. "No, and you know what?" She looks at Annie and adds, "You're not worth it either." She rips herself from my hold a moment later and leaves. Wendy follows after her. Clyde and I shoot Annie a look of disapproval and Kyle is just standing wide-eyed. I throw an arm around him and we follow the others out with Clyde.

"What a night," he sighs.

"I'll fuckin' say," I snort. "You good, Kyle?"

"Mhm," he murmurs. "It's getting late," he adds. "I'm going to go home."

"Whaaat?" I ask. "It's only," I pause, glancing at me cellphone, "1:30AM."

"That's late, in my standards," he says.

"Want us to walk you home?" I offer.

"No, you don't' have to do that."

"It's fine," Clyde insists. "You're far too pretty to be out there all alone, Mister."

Kyle chuckles. "Got it, got it."

The three of us don't bother meeting back up with the girls. We probably wouldn't be able to offer much condolence for Lola and we'd just get in the way of Wendy trying to comfort her. So, we make our way outside and begin walking to Kyle's house.

"Does Craig always act like that?" I ask Clyde.

"It's an off and on thing," he says somewhat sadly. "He's got a bit worse as time passed, but he's always been a bit insensitive."

"I didn't think he was that mean," Kyle mumbles.

"He can be pretty mean," Clyde says, not bothering to defend his best pal. "He does a lot of things that don't make sense to me, but I'm sure he has a reason for it."

"Or not," I snort. "Maybe he just enjoys being a fucking asshole."

"I really don't know anymore," Clyde sighs. "I don't want to believe that he's really that awful…"

"Has he done something like this before?" Kyle asks.

"Yeah," he tersely admits. "He's a fuckin' champ when it comes to this shit…"

"Who else did he fuck over?"

Clyde wrinkles his nose. "Me."

"What?" I cut in. "Aren't you his best friend?"

"Yeah," he continues, "but things like that don't really matter to Craig. Nothing is taken into account. He just does what he wants to."

"What an ass…" I mutter. "What did he do?"

"When we were fifteen I had a bit of a thing for Red," he says. "Craig found out about it and after tonight, you can probably guess what happened next… He went and fucked her and he made damn sure I knew it was happening… Every time I think he's done the worst thing ever, he finds a way to top himself."

What a fucking dick. Clyde has probably been dying to let out some of this pent up Craig-related anger. It's probably not something he can talk about much since all his friends are also Craig's. Not us, though. "Why don't you hate him?" I wonder aloud.

"I just can't," he says. "I know things about him that kind of make me understand why he's such a shitty guy."

"It doesn't matter what he's been through," I insist. "It doesn't give him the right to be a bad person."

"I know," Clyde admits, "but still… I guess some people just deal with their problems differently. This is how Craig does it. He insists he was doing me a favour because Red's a confrontational bitch… Whatever, she's dating Kevin Stoley now."

"How messy," Kyle adds.

"That's one way of putting it," Clyde concurs.

We arrive at Kyle's house soon enough and then part ways. Clyde and I continue walking. "What does Token think of all this?" I ask.

Clyde only shrugs. "We try not to bad mouth Craig because he's our friend. I mean, I know Token can keep a secret but I'd feel bad nonetheless… I don't want to trash talk Craig to his other friends, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know," I murmur.

"I guess it's still bad that I'm complaining about him to you guys, though," he admits to himself.

"Nah," I shrug. "You're not really saying anything that isn't true."

"I guess," he says with a sigh.

We take the long way, chatting until we arrive to his place and then I continue walking alone. At home, it's quiet. It's been quiet ever since my dad left. It makes me almost miss the yelling, because at least he was here.

He hasn't been back since. I don't even know where he is. My mom has been trying hard to pretend like everything is fine and normal. She's been cooking and cleaning a lot in between work. She never stops moving. It's like she's desperate for a distraction. Shelly is getting fed up. I'm waiting for her to explode at Mom and just tell her to sit the fuck down for five minutes. Hell, I'm getting fed up with it, too. We can't keep ignoring the fact that everything is screwed up. It's not right.

I walk upstairs and change into my pajamas before going to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I return to my room, I flop onto my bed and happily welcome sleep.

* * *

It's Saturday now. I call Kenny and tell him what happened. Afterwards, I text Wendy and ask her how Lola is doing. Wendy messages me back saying Lola is doing fine and is appreciative of my concern. Last night was certainly eventful. I wonder if Lola and Annie will make up. Probably not. If I were in Lola's position, I don't think I would be so forgiving either. If Kyle suddenly went after Wendy…? No way. Fuck that. I can't even picture it.

When I finally force myself to roll out of bed, I find that I'm home alone. Shelly isn't even here, or maybe she's just not awake. That's probably for the best. She's cranky as hell in the early part of the day.

I make myself some food and eat it slowly, wasting time because I don't know what to do with myself. After breakfast, I decide to call Kyle, but he doesn't answer his cellphone. I know he's one to rise early, so he's not still asleep. I call his home phone next and Sheila answers with a, "_Hello_?"

"Hi," I greet. "It's Stan. Is Kyle there?"

"_He is_," she starts, "_but he doesn't want company. He's having a bad day_."

"A bad day?" I ask.

"_He's being a little more, um, introverted than usual_," she says vaguely, probably trying to make it sound as nice as she can.

"Can I come over and talk to him?"

"_You can try_."

"Okay, thanks. I'll be over in a bit. Bye, Sheila." I hang up the phone and get dressed. I throw on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie. Downstairs, I slip into my boots and pull my jacket on before leaving.

* * *

When I arrive to the Broflovski house, Sheila lets me in and says, "He's in his room."

I nod and run upstairs, swinging his door open. He's sitting in his bed reading a book. "Kyle," I say his name.

"Stan," he says mine.

"What's up, dude?" I ask.

"Nothing," he informs, not looking up. He continues to stare intently at the pages of the book on his lap. There's an ash tray on his nightstand with about ten cigarette butts in it. I cringe at the sight.

"Your mom said you were having a bad day," I mention.

"I'm just not in a good mood," he admits. "I'd rather not be around people when I'm upset or angry."

"Why not?" I ask.

"I don't want to force them to deal with me," he says. "I don't want to bring them down with my negativity."

"You wouldn't," I insist.

He scoffs lightly, closing the book and putting it on his nightstand. "Are you sure about that?" he asks, looking over at me. "No one likes a whiny bitch."

"Yeah, I'm sure." I sit down next to him and lean back against his pillow. "Why are you in a bad mood, anyway?"

"I don't know," he admits. "Sometimes I just get upset… frustrated."

"Oh," I say. "Does it have anything to do with your OCD?"

"My what?" he asks tartly.

"Your obsession with cleanliness and perfection," I explain.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Fuck off about that, Stan."

"Just admit it," I say.

"You're being dramatic," he snaps. He shifts and lies down with his back facing me so he no longer has to look at me. I lie down as well and wrap a hand around his stomach, pulling him against me. "What are you doing?" he asks warily.

"Hugging my best friend," I tell him.

He just sighs. "This is really fucking gay," he murmurs.

"Is this why you don't want a girlfriend, Kyle?" I wonder aloud.

"What the fuck do you mean?" he snaps.

"Well," I start, "Relationships are messy, right? So is sex. You hate messy things."

"Oh… that."

"What did you think I meant…?"

"Nothing," he insists, but I can take the hint.

"Kyle, are you gay?" I ask.

"No!" he snaps, sounding as if the possibility is outrageous.

"Okay," I say, not pressing the issue. "I won't care if you are."

He laughs somewhat coldly. "Well, I'm not fucking gay, Stan. Why? Are you?"

"I don't believe so."

"Well, you're acting pretty gay right now," he mutters.

"Just enjoy it."

I think Kyle needs this desperately – someone to hold him and reassure him. I don't really mind being that person. Kyle has spent years taking care of me, whether he's been taking care of my drunken messes or consoling me about my girl problems. I'd like to take care of him for a change.

I feel him relax against me and I think that maybe, for the first time in my life, I've done the right thing.


	7. KM: All is right in the world

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

So, apparently Craig is a huge asshole. I didn't know. He seemed relatively nice during the times I've spoken with him – a little cold, but not cruel.

I spent the night with Bebe. Earlier, I texted Stan to ask how his night went, but he had a lot to say. He ended up calling me because he didn't feel like typing it all out on the little keypad on his phone. What he said was surprising. He told me Craig had sex with Annie and made damn sure Lola knew about it. I mean, everyone knows Lola is into Craig. She's been into him for a while. If he didn't feel the same way, he should have just said it instead of screwing with her head _and_ best friend.

I'm on my way to his house now. I thought I'd stop by before heading to Kyle's. Uninvited, of course, but oh well.

Ruby lets me in. "Hey, Kenny," she says in a sultry voice. She's still in her nightgown, so she must've just woken up.

"Er, hey, Ruby…"

"Craig's asleep," she informs me in her normal tone. There's humour evident on her face. Like Karen, she enjoys getting a rise out of people. "I think he is anyway… He doesn't really sleep much."

"Insomnia, right?" I recall.

"Yup."

"So, is my sister here?" I ask the strawberry blonde girl.

"Yeah, she's also asleep. I was asleep as well. So, thanks ever so much for waking me." Her voice is dripping with sarcasm; I'd have to be an idiot not to notice it.

I roll my eyes, kicking off my boots and the two of us go upstairs. "You're hung over, I presume?"

She just snickers. A little grey cat prances down the steps and Ruby grabs it, cradling it like a baby. "Aw," she coos at it.

"Where are your parents?" I ask. "Don't they care?"

"Dad's at work," she says, petting the furry animal. "He doesn't really give a shit."

"What about your mom?"

"She's dead," she says somewhat melancholically.

"What?" I respond stupidly, caught off guard.

"She's _dead_," she repeats. "What else would I mean?"

"Right… I didn't know. Sorry."

She shrugs. "It's fine. I wasn't the one who saw it happen."

Before I can pry, we reach the top and Ruby retreats to her own room, still holding her cat. I enter Craig's and see that he's asleep. He's on the right side of his wide mattress, lying on his stomach with one arm dangling off the side and his face buried in a pillow.

I approach him and say his name. "Craig…?" No answer, just a quiet groan. I grab the blanket and peek beneath. Apparently Craig sleeps naked. Not bad, not bad.

"Enjoying yourself?" he murmurs groggily. I guess he's awake after all.

"I heard about your night," I tell him, letting go of the blanket.

"Did you?" he asks, not seeming all that interested in what I'm about to say.

"I did," I start. "You're on everyone's shit list now, you know."

"Good," he says moodily.

I flop onto the side of the bed he's not currently occupying and say, "Now… why would you go and do a thing like that to Lola? She's sweet on you."

"And now she's not," he says simply.

I click my tongue at him. "Tsk... that isn't how you deal with a situation like that, you asshole."

He only sighs, showing no sign of remorse. He pushes the blanket off of himself, sitting up and walking towards his closet. I watch his lithe body move as he sifts through clothing. He pulls on a pair of cotton pajama pants and a plain, navy long-sleeved shirt. "Why are you here?" he asks, turning around once he's decent.

I give him a dull stare. "Why do you think?"

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, crossing his arms.

"Tell me something good, Craig," I say.

He gives me a look of mild disdain. "I can't think of anything."

"Think harder," I urge. "You're just saying that because you've told me all the little things."

"I really can't think of anything," he says again.

I let out an exasperated sigh. "Then how about this – we make up a new rule. Instead of freely telling me things about yourself every day, how about you let me ask you a question."

His eyes narrow. "I don't fucking think so."

"Come on," I whine. "It'll be fun."

"No, it won't," he says surely.

"Just try it. Don't be a bitch."

He lies back down and we're both silent, side by side. "Fine," he murmurs moment later. "Ask away."

"Tell me about your mom."

He closes his eyes. "No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to… besides, that wasn't even a fucking question."

"I think you need to talk about it, Craig," I tell him, getting a strong sense that it's something he keeps buried.

He scoffs. "I think you should mind your own business and stop sticking your nose in mine."

"You're self-destructive," I say. "When you finally snap, it'll become everyone's business, so you better get ready for it."

"You're an idiot, McCormick," he spits.

"Coming from you, it doesn't mean much, _Tucker_," I spit back.

"Just ask a fucking question."

"All right," I muse. "How did your mother die?"

"Suicide," he says flatly.

"Why?" I ask.

"That's two questions."

"So fuckin' what?" I snap, exasperated. "Christ. Friends should be able to talk to friends about shit like this."

"We're not friends," he says.

"We will be. That's the point of this."

"Don't be so sure," he challenges. "I don't make friends easily."

"Well, I do. Now, answer the question."

"She was depressed," he says tartly.

"How'd she do it?" I ask.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Craig raises his voice and it's unsettling. He sits up and stares down at me with an expression I've never seen him wear before. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"_This_!" he shouts. "Asking me questions I don't want to answer… These things hurt to fucking _think_ about. Is that it? Are you _trying_ to hurt me?"

"No," I say. "I'm not trying to hurt you, but sometimes people need to do things they don't want to do. It's for the best."

"You don't know me," he whispers harshly, "and you sure as hell don't know what's best for me, so you can get that idea out of your fucking head right now."

I'll push it away for the time being, but I'm not getting rid of it. I sit up a moment later and finally take my parka of. I unzip it slowly and toss it onto his floor.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Staying," I say simply, lying back down grinning over at him.

"Why do you wear that fucking thing?" he murmurs, gesturing towards my jacket.

"Is that your question for the day?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Okay," I start. "I used to be really malnourished. I was also pretty filthy. I didn't want people to know I wasn't okay. I couldn't afford to eat and stay clean, but it's all fine now. Tada. It's just a habit these days, I guess. Plus, it keeps me warm for the long winter."

"You're an idiot," Craig states flatly. "You hid your face, you hid your emotions."

"Maybe," I say, not bothering to point out that he hides, too. He'd only get angry.

He lies back down, falling against the pillow in a brash and almost frustrated manner.

"You saw your mother die," I murmur aloud, realizing that must be what happened.

"Shut the fuck up," he says in a hollow tone.

This time, I do.

* * *

I lie quietly with Craig for about an hour before sitting up. I put my parka back on, zipping it up and leaving the room. I know he's awake, but I don't bother telling him I'm leaving or where I'm going. It's obvious that he probably doesn't care. I slip my boots back on and continue to Kyle's house, humming as I walk.

The sun's bright but it's only doing half its job. It's damn cold out, even with my parka. When I arrive at Kyle's, Ike lets me in. "Kyle and Stan are both upstairs," he informs me.

"Cool, thanks," I say, kicking my boots back off and running up. When I open the door, I see the two of them lying there spooning. How fuckin' adorable. "Aw," I coo, tiptoeing closer and whipping out my cellphone to take a picture. _Click_. "Look at you guys... I just wanna eat you up."

"Mm," Stan mumbles. "Funny."

Kyle says, "Hi, Kenny," and turns around in Stan's hold. The two of them make awkward eye contact when their noses touch and Stan lets go. They sit up rather quickly.

I take a seat at the edge of the bed and say, "So, what are you two up to?"

"Nothing much now," Stan says. "We had a weird night, though."

"Yeah," I frown, nodding. "You told me about that a bit."

"Craig is a pig," Kyle declares.

"I went to see him today," I decide to tell them.

"Why?" Stan asks with a scoff. "I didn't think you guys were friends."

"We're not," I say, "but you know how I am. I'm too friendly for my own damn good."

"True enough," Stan snorts. "Did you ask him why he's such a damn prick?"

"No," I laugh, "but Ruby hinted at something and I pieced the rest together."

"What is it, then?" Kyle asks.

"Karen stayed over with Ruby last night. I kind of guessed they were hung over. When she answered the door, I wondered where her parents where. She said her dad was at work, but didn't mention her mom. I pried and Ruby told me she died. Sad, huh? I gave my condolences and she said it was fine because, in her words, she _wasn't the one who saw it happen_," I finish, quoting the last part.

"What?" Stan cuts in. "So, Craig saw his mom buy the farm?"

I nod. "I think so. I brought it up and he immediately grew rigid and angry. I mean, it's Craig, so he didn't show _too_ much of it but I knew. He wouldn't talk. I tried to get him to, but he wasn't having any of that. He said it was a suicide because she was depressed, but he stayed quiet after that."

"That _is_ sad," Kyle murmurs sympathetically.

"Yeah," I say, "and that's probably why he keeps quiet about it. He doesn't want us to pity him and shit."

"Still," Kyle reasons, "he shouldn't go around acting like a fucking asshole."

Stan nods his agreement. "He's screwed Clyde over like that, too. He was into Red so Craig fucked her. When Clyde called him out on it, Craig just said he did Craig a favour because Red is, in his words, a _confrontational bitch_."

I frown. "Christ… I had no idea he had it in him to be so vile."

"I know," Stan murmurs. "I thought he was just a bit of a dick, but he's pretty awful. He's just as heartless as he acts."

I don't know about that. I think he just wants to keep himself from getting hurt, so he hurts everyone else instead, but… I'll keep that to myself. For now, at least.

* * *

"Bitch… bitch, bitch, bitch…!" Stan cusses, aggressively pressing buttons on his controller. "Stupid asshole son-of-a-bitch!"

I snicker. "You suck, dude. Kyle's whipping your sorry ass."

Stan lets out a long whine and Kyle simply smiles. He looks somewhat fearful at the same time and I don't really know why. Maybe it's all of Stan's cursing. Video games always get him riled up. He always loses, so it doesn't really help his game-related anger. I don't know how many times I've watched him rage quit games after only five minutes.

We're all seated in the living room. I'm watching the two of them play PlayStation. Ike is sitting in the corner of the room doing shit on his laptop. He's got his glasses on, so he's probably doing reading for school. Smart little turd. I glance at him, asking, "What'yah doin', Ike?"

"Homework," he sighs, looking up at me and wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Fun?" I ask with a little laugh.

"Not particularly," he admits. "This stuff is immensely tedious."

"Sounds like a drag," I tell him. "How's eighth grade?"

"Easy." He makes another disdainful expression. "Everyone in the class in dumb, I swear. It's pretty bad."

"Heh, genius," I taunt.

He just smiles in good humour before staring back down at his computer screen. I turn back around and watch Kyle and Stan play video games some more. If I was playing, I'd school the both of them. Video games are my speciality.

"Shitting shit," Stan says once he loses.

Kyle bristles at Stan's final insult. "Sorry," he lets out a soft laugh. He stands up and hands me the remote control. "I'll be right back," he adds, going upstairs.

Stan frowns and we exchange a knowing look.

"Yeah, he's going to wash his hands. He has, like, the worst OCD ever," Ike cuts in. "Mom insists he's fine and dandy, though. We all know that when it comes to Kyle's problems, her track record isn't the best. It's been like that since we were young. He's almost died more than once, but she never learns."

I roll my eyes, recalling the incident where he got kidney failure. "Sorry," I say, "but Sheila is kind of retarded if she thinks Kyle doesn't have serious issues."

"I know," he admits. "She likes to think me and Kyle are perfect. I could get fuckin' raped or stabbed or something and she'd insist it never happened. She just can't handle the idea of us suffering and that just makes things worse."

"Christ," I mumble. "No wonder he's got problems."

"What would happen if we just… kind of dragged him out of the bathroom?" Stan wonders.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Ike murmurs. "He needs to be able to stop doing it on his own accord. He can't be forced into it. Sometimes my mom makes him, but he fights her over it and screams and it's just not pleasant to see. Do you know _why_ he performs those rituals?"

Me and Stan shake our heads in unison.

"Well," Ike starts, "he might be thinking something he doesn't want to be thinking about. They're intrusive thoughts, things he can't control. The thoughts will pervade and he will need to do his little ritual. He'll feel better. I know that, to us, it makes no sense… but to him it does."

"What does he think might happen?" I ask.

"I'm not sure. A guess, but maybe he thought Stan was going to get angry because he lost. He was being quite aggressive just now," Ike explains. Stan starts to open his mouth but Ike cuts him off and adds, "I'm not saying this is your fault. It's just something that Kyle thinks. He hates when people get angry. It makes him feel incredibly guilty. He takes everything on, even things that he has no control over."

"So, I should be a little… softer?" Stan ventures.

Ike shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "OCD varies among people and Kyle won't talk about his, or even acknowledge that he has it."

"But it's so fucking obvious," I murmur.

"Yeah, I know," Ike sighs.

The conversation dies down after that. I pick up a controller and start a new game. Me and Stan play around for a little while and I beat the tar out of him, much to his chagrin.

Eventually Kyle comes back downstairs. "You okay?" I ask him.

"I'm fine," he tells me. Naturally.

I simply nod. "Anything good happening tonight?"

Kyle shrugs and Stan says, "Not that I know of. We can head down to the club?"

* * *

So, the three of us end up going down to the club, grabbing Eric on our way. I call Bebe and tell her to meet us there. I tell her to bring Lola, too. We'll entertain her and soon enough she'll forget all about Craig and her mean best friend.

"Ladies," I greet upon arrival. I unzip my hood, give Bebe a kiss and say, "Pretty as ever, my queen."

"Oh, you," she simpers before chucking and we all walk inside.

Eric whips out his flask and Kyle raises an eyebrow. "What's in there?"

"Patron," Eric replies, taking a swig.

I grimace at the mention of tequila. I've had a few particularly rough nights and tequila is to blame. He offers Kyle a sip and he tentatively accepts, taking the flask and taking a slow drink. "Oh, fuck," he exclaims. "Ew."

Eric cackles at the reaction. "Pussy."

Kyle calls him stupid and the two of them banter back and forth for a while. The rest of us just try to drown them out.

"How're you doin', Lola?" I ask softly.

"I'm good," she says. "And you? Bebe tells me you're trying to befriend Craig…"

"I want to see the softer side of him," I admit.

"I don't think he has one," Lola says disdainfully.

"Yeah," I sympathize. "I don't know. If he does, he definitely doesn't let it show."

"He's just a stupid, scared boy," she adds.

"Yeah," I chuckle. I think that's exactly what Craig Tucker is. "He'll learn the hard way, be sure of that."

"But enough Craig talk," she insists, "Let's enjoy the night."

"That's the spirit," Bebe smiles, linking one arm to me and another to Lola before dragging us to the dance floor. She turns around and beckons Kyle, Eric and Stan to join us. Eric promptly wanders off, probably to find a girl to hump. Stan chuckles and joins us, as does Kyle though with much more hesitance. He hates dancing. After all, he has little rhythm.

"Smile, Kyle," Lola shouts over the music, grabbing his hands and forcing him to sway. "You're having fun."

Kyle forces a smile, humouring her probably just because he knows she's still a bit upset. Nonetheless, it's always good to see Kyle let loose a bit. He's way too uptight. It's just not healthy.

Bebe grins at the sight of them, as do Stan and I. Bebe grabs our hands and starts dancing and jumping around like her feet are on fire. None of us are great dancers, but it's good fun anyway. After a few songs, we all enter the lounge.

"I'm going to get a drink," Bebe announces. "Anyone want anything?"

"I'm good," I grin, flopping onto a three seater sofa. "I'll just share yours."

She chuckles and nods. "Stan, Kyle, Lola?"

"I'll take a coke," Stan says, sitting on my right side.

"Me, too," Lola adds, sitting on my left.

"I'm fine, thanks," Kyle smiles. He flops onto a loveseat across from us and I break out into a grin.

"There's room on my lap if you're interested," I purr.

He rolls his eyes. "You're insatiable."

"Heh," I snicker. I toss an arm around Stan's shoulder and peck him on the cheek before doing the same to Lola. "Ah, today is a good day."

"Why're you in such a damn good mood?" Kyle asks.

"I just am," I say simply. I'm not going to let Craig's angst put me in a bad mood.

"I always feel pretty weird when we do this kinda shit," Stan suddenly says.

"Why?" I wonder. "What kinda shit?"

"Clubbing," he explains. "Don't you get annoyed when Bebe holds my hand?"

"Nah," I shake my head. "We're all friends here. I know you're not trying to steal her away and she's not trying to steal you away either. It's all innocent fun."

"Okay," Stan smiles. "If you say so."

Bebe returns shortly after with our drinks. After handing them out she flops down next to Kyle and the five of us don't see Eric for the rest of the night. I guess that's fine. I kind of want Kyle to keep enjoying the night and not have Eric come back and start an argument.

* * *

It's now Sunday and my parents are off to church. I don't fucking know why they go. I think it's just to keep up appearances. Me and Karen go along with them. Karen pretends she's still the sweet little girl she used to be. She's not wearing any make up. She's fresh faced, with her hair up in a tidy bun. She's also wearing a modest dress. Me and Kevin are wearing casual suits. Mine has a hole in the pocket, but I'm not really looking to buy a new one anytime soon. I'll wear this one until it no longer fits. No parka today. I'm completely visible and it still feels a little strange to show this much of myself because it's something I rarely do. But maybe it's something I should get used to.

I see Stan a few pews down with his parents, and Eric with Liane. After mass, people line up to confess their sins. My parents are gone by now, no big surprise. I stand with Stan and Eric. Karen, Kevin and Shelly are behind us quietly chatting away. I still find it weird that Kevin and Shelly are friends.

"I bet you have a lot to confess, eh, Eric?" I snort.

He rolls his eyes, dismissing me. "I don't even want to be here."

"Well, there's something to confess," Stan snickers.

Soon enough, it's my turn. I enter the confession box and kneel down, doing the sign of the cross. It's Father Maxi on the other side and he says, "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

I let out a soft sigh. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been about… Well, it's been a long time since my last confession. Probably a few years."

"Why so long?"

"I have no excuse," I admit. "I just haven't been here."

"What sins have you committed since then?"

I decide to confess only the sins I am actually sorry for. I won't apologize for having sex or drinking, that's for damn sure. "I try to be a good person but sometimes it's hard. I've been fighting a lot. I find it so impossible to control myself sometimes. It's easier to just let myself go and let the anger swallow me up. My parents don't really care, but I feel like I should be a better sibling to my sister and even my brother, Kevin. He's kind of lost his way." I pause for a moment and then finish, "That's all, Father."

"Are you sorry for your sins?" he asks. I tell him I am and he invites me to say a prayer as proof.

"My God, I am sorry for my sins because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offend thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of thy grace, to sin no more. Amen."

"Five Hail Mary's," Father Maxi says. "May the passion of our Lord and saviour Jesus Christ heal your sins and help you grow in holiness. Go in Peace."

"Thank you, Father," I murmur. I do the sign of the cross once more, and then leave the confession box. I walk past Stan and everyone else before approaching the alter. Kneeling, I clasp my palms together and whisper, "Hail Mary, full of grace…"

Five Hail Mary's later; I don't really feel all that different. I guess this is why I don't come to church. When I rise, Stan is leaving the confession box. Eric enters after him and Stan kneels a few feet away from me.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…" I hear him murmuring to himself.

I wonder what Stan's sins were. I think I'll ask him. Maybe I'm not supposed to ask him, but eh… I'm curious. I take a seat on a pew and wait for him to be finished. When he stands up, he turns around and offers me a smile.

"What did you confess?" I ask him.

"Being impatient with Kyle," he says. "I was kind of a di–" he stops, cutting himself off. He doesn't want to swear in the house of God. "I was kind of lame," he corrects.

I chuckle. "Yeah, but Eric was the lamest."

"We should've stopped him from messing around with Kyle's book shelf," he says.

"Yeah, lesson learned."

"He seemed fine last night," Stan adds. "I think he had a good time."

I nod and a moment later, Eric leaves the confession box. "He sure took a while," I say. "He'll be at the altar for twice as long, I'm sure."

"Probably," Stan laughs.

Eric overhears us and flips us the bird. "Dude," I say, "You can't do that in church."

He doesn't look like he cares all that much. He kneels at the altar for a few short moments and stands up. "Fuck it, I ain't saying twenty goddamn prayers."

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose and I just shake my head at him. "You're somethin' else, dude," I laugh.

"Ah, whatever," he says dismissively, shoving his hands in his pockets. The three of us walk outside into the crisp, cold air. They don't bother waiting for their parents.

"That was boring as hell," Eric mutters.

"Yeah, Maxi really likes trying to brainwash us with fear," I add. "At least we're old and smart enough to realize it now, unlike when we were kiddies."

"Ugh," Stan groans. "Bad memories."

"Why'd you come to mass today, Kinny?" Eric asks. "You never come."

"I don't know," I shrug. "I just thought I'd go." I've been feeling guilty about the fighting. Maybe that's why I went. "Craig wasn't here… Does he ever come?"

Stan shakes his head and Eric says, "No, but I bet he'd have a fuck of a lot to confess. Maybe even more than me."

"Heh, yeah," I agree. "Dude, I bet you only confessed like ten percent of your sins."

"If I confessed them all, I think Maxi might try to strangle me again," Eric says with facetious solemnity.

"We wouldn't want that," Stan mutters sarcastically.

"Ay!" Eric shouts. "You guys wouldn't be able to live without me."

"Sure, dude, keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel special," Stan snorts.

I pat Eric on the back and smile, but I don't join in the patronizing this time. "Let's go to Stark's Pond," I suggest out of the blue.

"Should we call Kyle to meet us there?" Stan asks.

"Sure," I grin.

He whips out his phone and sends a text to his super best friend. It should be nice. I haven't been there in years. I kind of miss it. "When was the last time you guys were at Stark's Pond?" I wonder.

"When I was in grade eight," Eric pipes in. "I chased a seventh grader there and pushed him in."

"Asshole," I laugh. "What 'bout you, Stan?"

He smiles, looking like he's in thought. "It was a couple years ago," he says. "I was with Kyle."

"Naturally," Eric snorts. "Fuckin' homos."

Stan dismisses him and continues, "We were sixteen. I learned how to drive and I decided to take Kyle for a spin. We parked by the pond and we just kind of sat there. It was in the summer. It was nice."

"Yeah, that sounds nice," I smile.

"Gay," Eric adds. "Why don'tcha just fuck Kyle and get it over with."

"Why don't _you_?" Stan retorts. "You're the one who used to obsess over him."

"It's called humiliation, Stan," Eric states condescendingly. "I didn't want to fuck him, I wanted to humiliate him…"

"Sexually," I add and Eric rolls his eyes. "Hey, if Kyle was down for it I'd probably fuck him," I admit. "He's cute."

Stan just murmurs a soft and awkward, "Yeah".

"Hell, I'd probably fuck him, too," Eric finally relents. "Mind you, I'd probably smack him around a bit beforehand so he got good and scared. Bet he'd be loud."

How unsettling. "Sadist," Stan says distastefully. He means it when he says it. Eric's computer history is just full of violent porn. He really is a sexual sadist. "Like hell he'd let you touch him."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to steal your boyfriend," Eric says. "So, calm your boner."

I laugh some more. "Okay, we better stop talking about this. Kyle would kill us and spit on our graves."

"He's literally the only virgin I'm friends with," Eric says, sounding like he's only just realizing it now. "Fuckin' Butters isn't even a virgin."

"What about Tweek?" Stan asks.

"He's been around and back," I cut in.

"For real?" Stan raises a brow, unconvinced.

I nod. "You know how he was in a hospital the summer after grade nine?" I ask, not bothering to wait for a reply. "Well, apparently the nurses were oblivious so all the patients screwed around."

"Christ," Eric says. "What a fuckin' weirdo. Why the fuckin' hell would someone want to sleep with someone in a nut house?"

I roll my eyes. "Dude… not everyone in there is insane. Some people just have things to work through. Some people are sick. Some people are tired and need a place to _rest_."

Eric just shrugs. "Still fuckin' weird."

"I had sex with him twice," I admit.

"What?" Stan asks in a deadpan, but Eric doesn't look too shocked.

I just nod, smiling slightly. "He fucks like he's on meth."

"Must be the so called ADD," Eric mutters. "He never stops moving… like the fuckin' energizer bunny."

"Pretty much," I chuckle. "Tweek the tweeker." Poor bastard. He'll probably be dead before he's thirty, which is a shame. He's a nice kid.

"Christ," Eric sighs. "Everyone here just fucks one another."

"You're no different," I point out. "Besides, what the fuck else is there to do in a small town like this?"

"True enough," he relents.

The three of us arrive at Stark's Pond and take in the familiar sight – a place where we spent so much of our childhood. I sit on a boulder nearby and sigh, "It's still the exact same."

"Once Kyle shows up, this will be the first time we're all here together since we were ten," Stan says.

"Hm," I muse, grinning.

It's just past noon now and the sun is high up, but once again, only doing half its job because it's fucking freezing out here. Kyle shows up a few minutes later. He waves and calls as he approaches where Stan, Eric and I are.

"You guys look fancy," he notes.

"We just came from church," I tell him with a shrug.

"I haven't been here in a while," he says, surveying the area. Awe spreads across his face as he takes in his surroundings.

"Yeah, I thought it might be nice for us to all sit around here again," I tell him. "Grade twelve just started, but the end isn't far away. We'll be graduating soon. We'll all be adults. I thought it'd be nice to be here as kids one more time."

Kyle simply smiles, staring out at the frozen lake. Then he starts chuckling, "Do you remember the time Cartman rowed us all out here and tried to kill us when we wanted to confess for TPing the art teacher's house?"

"And he betrayed us in the end," I say solemnly before cracking a smile.

"Fuck you guys," Eric cuts in. "Serves you all right."

Stan just shakes his head and everything feels so beautifully normal. For now, I'll pretend that all is right in the world.


	8. SM: A sobering discovery

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Wow! So many reviews so far, you guys are the best :) **

**Stan's POV**

* * *

It's Monday morning and Cartman is being an ass again. Nothing new. Kyle is fretting, though. The two of them are in the midst of yet another hallway argument. It happens at least a couple times a day. It's like Cartman needs his fix of Kyle-angst and Kyle gives it to him in buckets. "Stop belittling me, you dumb fuck!" he shouts, voice wavering with emotion.

"Never," Cartman cackles cruelly. "Never, never, never!"

"You're an asshole, Cartman!" Kyle shrieks, temper rising to a frightening extent. This is why his voice is now permanently hoarse – from yelling at Cartman for years and years and years. If he doesn't calm down, a teacher will drag them both to the counsellor's office any minute.

"And you're a Jew-bitch!" the fat tit retorts.

Kyle is silent for a moment, but then he does something that is a little overdramatic. He starts to cry. Loudly. A few other kids in the hallway shoot him sympathetic stares as they walk past us, but they say nothing. Everyone is used to it by now. "Why do we always have to fight?" Kyle asks tearfully. "What did I do to make you hate me so fucking much?"

Cartman is silent, but there's something in his eyes that _might_ be guilt. I glance at him and we're both bewildered.

"Fucking say something!" Kyle snaps, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve.

"What the hell d'you want me to say?" Cartman asks, clearly feeling uncomfortable. Kyle turned the tables with his display of emotions.

Kyle presses the palms of his hands to his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Just say you don't hate me…"

"I don't!" he exclaims, throwing his hands up. "Christ, Jew… Take a fucking joke. These fights aren't supposed to be fuckin' serious. They're just a joke."

Kyle lets his hands fall. "Everything is a joke to you!" he yells.

"The only way to get through life is not to take everything so goddamn seriously," Cartman mutters.

"Come on, Ky," I say softly, putting an arm around his back and ushering him away from the fat ass. "Don't get yourself worked up over nothing." I walk him to the boy's bathroom and usher him inside. He leans against the wall and sinks to the floor, still swiping at his eyes some more.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Fuck!"

"Why are you _really_ upset?" I ask, kneeling next to him.

"What do you mean?" His voice is terse and the tears won't stop, no matter how many times he brushes them away.

"I mean," I start, "that you were probably upset over something before Cartman decided to be a tit. He just pushed you over the edge. There's no way in hell you'd just start bawling like this over a few insults from Jabba the Hutt."

He turns his head to glance at me. "Shut up," he whispers.

I stare into his glassy eyes. I reach a hand forward and wipe the freshly fallen tears. "You cry like a child," I murmur. He scowls at that and I can't help but chuckle. "It's not a bad thing. Kids cry with everything they got. They don't give a shit who sees. They cry and then they feel better. It's completely unrepressed. That's kind of how you cry, too."

"I guess so," he says quietly.

I put my arm around him and pull him close. "So, why are you upset?" I ask once more.

"I'm just frustrated lately," he murmurs. "Last night I heard Ike talking to my mom about things… about _me_."

"What were they talking about?" Though, I think I have an idea.

Kyle sniffs and then sighs. "My habits… my book shelf… the way I wash my hands. Stuff that doesn't concern them."

I frown sympathetically. I really hate seeing him like this. "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Yeah…" he admits weakly. He presses his lips together and squeezes his eyes shut. He sniffs again and more tears fall. "Fuck," he sobs. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Not a damn thing, Kyle," I say, rubbing his shoulder. "Everyone's got shit to work through. There's nothing wrong with you… but maybe you should go to therapy?" It's a tentative and cautious suggestion.

"No," he flat out refuses, not taking a minute to consider what it might offer him.

"You wouldn't have to feel like this anymore," I tell him. "You could get help."

"No," he repeats. He moves away from me and stands up, marching towards the door. He then pauses, brushing the dirt off his clothes and then rinsing his hands in the sink for good measure. To be expected. He was just sitting on the floor after all.

Once he's done, I stand up and grab his wrist, forcing him to look at me. We share a long, awkward stare and my heart starts to palpitate in my chest. I don't really know what I want to say or do, so I just let him go.

Well, fuck.

* * *

I slowly walk to my first class. The teacher scolds me for being late as I grab the seat next to Kenny. It's math class, which Kyle doesn't have with us since he's advanced and this is remedial math.

"Where were you?" Kenny asks, his speech muffled by his usual orange, hooded parka.

"Kyle was crying again," I murmur. It's nothing new, but it still sucks to see.

"Oh," Kenny wrinkles his freckly nose. "He okay now?"

"Not really. I suggested therapy and he got angry," I whisper.

"McCormick and Marsh!" the teacher growls our surnames. "The chatting can wait until after class, boys!"

Kenny rolls his eyes and when the teacher turns around he lifts up his middle finger, taking a page out of Craig's books. This elicits giggles and snicker from a few other students and by the time the teacher turns around, he already has his hand placed neatly on his desk. Her eyes narrow suspiciously, lingering in me and Kenny's direction, but she eventually turns back around and starts writing math problems on the chalk board.

When class finally does end, I turn to Kenny and say, "Can we talk?"

"Sure, dude," he says. "What's up?"

"I'll tell you in a sec." I drag him out of the classroom and into an empty computer lab.

"Are we gonna hook up?" Kenny asks with a snicker.

"Dude… no," I laugh.

He laughs, too. "Okay, so what is the problem?"

"I think I might be attracted to Kyle," I murmur quietly and Kenny nods sagely; taking his hood off and ruffling his hair. I can't help but admire him. Christ, he really _is_ good looking… I hadn't really noticed until our lips were pressed together a little while ago. I never looked at guys in a gay way before, but now I can't seem to stop. Wendy put some pretty potent ideas in my head.

"I thought you might," Kenny says. "What do you like about him? Think hard, it's a question you need to be able to answer. If you can't, then pursuing him is pointless."

"I don't fuckin' know," I say. I was never good at answering that question when Wendy asked it and it'll probably be no different this time. "He's pretty, I guess… He has smooth skin. Kyle is pretty in an unconventional sense. I like that about him. He has a unique face. He has big, green eyes and a sharp nose, but everything else about him is soft." I guess I sound shallow, but I like Kyle for more than just the way he looks. That's why we're best friends. He's important and it's hard to put it into words.

"Jesus Christ," Kenny laughs. "Sounds like you're talking about a cute girl you saw at the mall or something, dude. Are you gonna mention his back dimples and full lips, too?"

"Shut up," I mumble, chuckling and shoving him into the tiled wall. "Does he really have back dimples?" I ask a an afterthought.

Kenny nods, looking lecherous. "Yeah, haven't you ever watched him change?"

"Not in depth…" I say slowly. "But you clearly have?"

"Of course," he says shamelessly. "I've pretty much checked everyone out in the locker rooms at some point. I get curious, so sue me…!"

"That's unsettling, dude," I snort.

"I've checked you out, too," he decides to add, giving me a perverse grin.

That doesn't really shock me. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

I can't help but wonder if Kyle's dick is larger than mine. I don't know why. I've never really paid attention to it in the gym locker room. Mine is average and Kenny once told me Kyle was pretty hung for a little guy. I'm not sure if he was telling the truth or if he was just screwing around. With Kenny, you can never really know and I'm not about to ask. I smack myself on the side of the head, trying to will away the gay thoughts.

"If you ever want someone to explore this new boy-lovin' side of you," he winks, "you know where to come."

"Right," I snort. "Thanks ever so much for the chance of a lifetime."

We're both quiet for a moment, just staring at each other. Then, in unison, we both lean forward. Damn the hormones. He grabs a fistful of my sweater and we aggressively make out with each other. I tongue every inch of his mouth until Mr. Venezuela decides to interrupt, broom at the ready.

"Qu_é_…?"

Me and Kenny promptly break apart and offer him sheepish smiles. Kenny pulls his hood back up and the two of us run off. Once we round the corner we both start laughing, ignoring the raised eyebrows of every curious student standing in the hallway with us.

"Shit!" I exclaim.

"How far d'you think we would've gone if he hadn't interrupted?" Kenny asks.

"I don't know, dude," I admit. "But we probably shouldn't… I think I like Kyle."

"And I like… well, I like lots of people!" he exclaims. "I guess I just need to figure out who I like the best."

I roll my eyes. "You are somethin' else."

Kenny wiggles his eyebrows. "Everyone fucks everyone," he says. "Welcome to high school. It's probably worse since we're such a small town, too. We all know one another. We're an incestuous bunch."

"Yeah, that's true," I agree.

"If you're DTF, we can let Bebe join and make it a little less gay?" he suggests with humour.

"Dude, no way," I snort. "If we were gonna fuck, I wouldn't want your god damn girlfriend to be there. That would be weird as hell."

"Hey, it wouldn't be our first threesome," he adds.

"Honest to God?" I ask.

He nods. "I slept with Tweek, remember? We did it once and we did it again with Bebe. I fucked him while he was fucking her. It was fun. He was surprisingly adventurous and thirsty as hell." Of all people…

"Dude, I will seriously _never_ understand you and Bebe's relationship," I state flatly.

"Bebe and I… We get each other," Kenny says fondly. A soft smile makes its way to his lips and I can _see_ how much he fucking loves her.

"Then why don't you just stay with her?" I ask.

"It's a different kind of love," he explains. "It's hard to explain. Once we find the person we're truly suited for, we'll probably be okay with making things exclusive."

"If you know you won't end up with her, why are you with her now?"

"Because," he starts, "we're best friends. Maybe that's not really the right word... We're kind of inseparable and we're comfortable exploring each other like this. I love her, I do… and she loves me. We're like fucking soul mates, dude. Maybe that's a better word to describe me and Bebe. But sometimes soul mates aren't meant to get married and be together. We're one in the same. She's my female counterpart, you could say. If we got jealous, it'd be a completely different story. It would change everything. I'm comfortable with her. She's comfortable with me. We've seen the best and worst parts of one another. I mean, fuck, I spread my damn legs for that girl. I never imagined I'd do that for anyone, let alone a chick."

I snicker at that. We all found that pretty damn surprising. "Would it ruin your relationship if one of you did get jealous?" I wonder.

"Probably." Kenny shrugs.

I shake my head. Again, I don't get it.

* * *

After school, we all go to Kyle's house to finish that stupid project once and for all. Presentations start on Friday and we still need to do the final touch ups.

"Sooo," Cartman sings as we all settle in Kyle's room, "I heard something interesting today."

"What's that?" Kyle asks tartly, still mad about the confrontation they had this morning.

"Sally Turner said she saw Kenny and Stan fooling around in an empty computer lab," he snickers.

I pale horrendously and Kenny just rolls his eyes. "Who cares?" he drawls, as if it's not even a big deal. I guess it's not, but in this context is kind of sucks.

"So, is it true?" Cartman asks expectantly.

"Yep!" Kenny exclaims.

"Jesus Christ," he laughs boisterously. "You guys are all fuckin' gay as hell."

"Honestly, it's not a big fucking deal," Kyle snaps. "It's not their first time doing it. Besides, no offence, but _everyone's_ kissed Kenny." He leans forward and gives the blond a peck on the lips. "See, now I've done it, too? Wow, lovely! Let's get back to fucking work on this damn thing."

Kenny smiles at Kyle and I let out a sigh. For some reason, I'm incredibly annoyed. Kenny probably senses this because stops smiling and gives me a pointed look. "_Just tell him_," he mouths at me.

I shake my head. The last thing Kyle needs right now is for his best friend to try getting into his pants. What he needs first is help.

* * *

After the dumb project is fixed up, Cartman goes home. Kenny decides to follow shortly after, leaving me and Kyle alone. Kenny winks at me and then makes an obscene gesture with his hands. I just roll my eyes and wave him out of the room. Kyle is oblivious to the entire thing, muttering an offhanded, "Bye, Kenny." He's staring at his computer screen still, reading and rereading our project in case of typos.

"Dude, we're done," I tell him. "Don't worry about it. We'll get an A."

He lets out a sigh, closing his laptop and spinning around in his desk chair. "You're right," he says, standing up. "Be right back." He wanders out of the room and I know he's probably going to perform his little ritual.

I lie down on his bed and close my eyes. He'll probably be in there for a while. I'm debating on whether or not I should tell him I want to be with him… No. I probably shouldn't. I let out a groan and stand up, walking out into the hallway. "Kyle," I say his name, knocking on the bathroom door. "I'm going home. I'll see you tomorrow."

He doesn't respond. Nonetheless, I go downstairs, slip on my shoes and leave. I spend the rest of the evening watching crapping TV and trying not to think about my parents. So Instead, I think about Kyle. I debate whether or not I should call Wendy. She always gives the best advice… but I'm not really sure I want her knowing about this. I don't even know what _this_ is. I just know that she is probably the one who started it by getting the idea in my head. I never really considered it before now. I don't know if that means it's just a phase or if it's real. I guess I need to find that out before I tell Kyle. Christ, this just got a hell of a lot more difficult.

Shelly walks in a while later. I turn around and I ask, "Has Dad been around?"

"No," she says angrily. "Fuck him. He's a fucking bitch for ditching us like this."

I don't respond. I just turn my head back toward the television and concentrate on the story. She flops down next to me after kicking her shoes off and neither of us says a damn word. It's weird that she's being so civil. I almost miss the days where she'd call me a turd and beat me up… Okay, well, I wouldn't go as far to say I miss it. I just hate seeing her this miserable. This whole damn house is miserable. I hate being here.

"Where's Mom?" I ask.

"Locked away in her room," Shelly reveals sourly. "She didn't work today. When she doesn't work she mostly just cleans the house and goes to sleep."

"I know," I mutter.

"She misses you, though," Shelly adds.

"What?"

"She knows you've been avoiding the house. She doesn't blame you, but she misses you."

Suddenly I feel guilty. "Oh…" I hand Shelly the remote and stand up, running upstairs. I should probably go see if Mom's okay… if she needs me to do anything. I should apologize for avoiding her. I walk to the end of the hallway and open her bedroom door. "Mom…?" I call quietly.

"Mm?" I hear her soft reply. I wander inside and she turns on the lamp on her nightstand, sitting up. "What is it, sweetheart?"

I take a few more steps, so I'm standing in front of her bed. I let out a sharp sigh that comes out sounding like a sob then I break. "I'm sorry," I say weakly, starting to cry.

She frowns and her eyes soften. She pulls back the covers and pats the empty spot beside her… the place my Dad should be. Nonetheless, I slip inside. I feel weird crying in front of my mom, but I feel really bad as well and the bad feeling is stronger than the weird feeling. She hugs me and I rest my forehead against her shoulder.

People tell me I'm too sensitive. I've been told it my entire life. I tried to deny it, but I see it now. Looking back on it, I don't know why I tried so damn hard to pretend it wasn't true.

After many long and embarrassing minutes, I calm myself down and sit up. "Is he coming back?" I ask, wiping my wet eyes.

"I don't know, Stanley," she says. "I'm sorry for putting you through this."

"And I'm sorry I haven't been here," I reply.

"It's okay. I understand why," she smiles, but it's incredibly forced and lackluster. "What have you and the boys been up to?"

"An English project," I tell her. "Kyle's freaking out like always. I recently discovered that he probably has OCD… well, not probably… definitely. He definitely has OCD."

"Really?" she sounds concerned.

I nod. "He denies it, though. He gets angry when anyone brings it up... Plus, his eating habits are all over the place lately, too."

"Poor thing," Mom says softly. "Hopefully he doesn't get sick again."

"I know," I murmur. It was no secret that Kyle was incredibly ill. Everyone knew and I think that made him feel even worse. He tried so damn hard to hide it and he was doing a good job, but it didn't last. Nothing ever lasts.

"And how's Wendy?"

"We broke up," I admit. "It was a while ago."

"Are you all right?" Mom asks. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were preoccupied," I say carefully, "but I'm fine. I was upset, but I'm fine now. I'm over her."

"Is there a new girl?" she pries.

I press my lips together, debating on whether or not I should tell her I might be kinda gay. "Not a new girl…" I say slowly, "but there might be a guy."

She's quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Oh," she says simply. "Well, if that's what you want…"

"You're fine with it?" I ask.

"A bit surprised," she admits, "but as long as you're happy…"

I feel ultimately relieved. "Okay."

"May I ask who it is?"

"Kyle," I say.

She smiles. "I can see it now that you mention it."

"Can you?" I raise a brow. "Is it obvious?"

She shakes her head. "You care about him. His happiness is a priority of yours. It's only natural you might want more than just his friendship."

"Yeah," I murmur. "I don't know though… It's all really confusing. I'm not sure if what I feel is what I think it is."

"What else would it be?" she asks.

"A phase?" I shrug, a chuckle escaping. "A homoerotic friendship? I don't know."

"It's probably not a phase, honey. For many people, sexuality is a fluid thing. It's not as simple as being straight or gay. Nonetheless, do a little soul searching," she suggests. "You'll find the answer. You'll know."

"Thanks, Mom," I say sincerely.

"Sure, sweetie."

I've never had a conversation like this with her in all of my life. It actually feels kind of nice. Weird and pretty awkward, but still nice. I guess it's probably because my dad consumed a lot of her time with his idiocy, but at the same time she is probably happy talking about my problems for a change instead of sitting alone and being forced to think about her own.

I don't mind being her distraction.


	9. KM: I don't know myself

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Okay, so I just moved houses a couple days ago. I won't have internet for ten more days, but I'm at starbucks right now so yay. Ignore any mistakes, I haven't had a minute to edit this and I have a buttload of final assignments to do for university. **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

So Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski might become an actual thing. I can't say I'm surprised. Me and Bebe pretty much predicted it. Now all Stan has to do is get the words out, but I don't think he's going to do that until Kyle stops crying over his alphabetized book shelf. That's probably a smart decision. Kyle would probably be bit overwhelmed. I can't really see him having sex any time soon either, if he's a bit fearful of messes. Sex is pretty damn messy. In a good way, I think, but I _know_ Kyle would disagree and cringe.

Craig isn't at school today. I didn't see him in his usual spot behind the school or with Clyde. He skips a lot and when he's not skipping, he usually has detention.

I texted him yesterday and he told me he was getting braces soon. I thought that was funny. His teeth _are_ pretty crooked, but I think it's kind of endearing.

After classes, I loiter for a bit and then decide to visit him. Ruby lets me in. She licks her top lip seductively and then winks at me. I just stare. "Ruby," I sigh, "you're a very pretty girl… but no."

She clicks her tongue. "Tsk, you're no fun."

"I know, I know," I say somewhat dismissively. "Where's your brother?"

"In his room, obviously."

I nod my thanks and go upstairs. Craig is sitting on his bed wearing a baggy t-shirt that's sliding off his left shoulder and a pair of sweats. There's a laptop in front of him and he's hunched over it.

"McCormick," he greets airily, not looking up.

"_Tucker_," I respond, pulling my hood down and taking off my parka.

He closes his laptop a moment later, placing it on his nightstand. "What is it?"

"Question time," I start, approaching his bed and sitting across from him on the mattress so we're face to face. Part of me wants to push him down and fuck him silly. I bet Craig Tucker would be a damn good lay… but I don't. Instead, I simply ask, "Why don't you let people get close?"

He sneers at me. "I don't want to play this game anymore," he says.

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because you're winning."

"So?" I shrug, closing his laptop and pushing it to the side.

"I don't like to lose," he states tartly.

I grin. "Sometimes you have to lose in order to win."

He lets out a breath, frowning. "What happens now?"

For a moment, I just grin and he looks at me searchingly. I lean forward and press my lips to his, pulling away with a soft, wet sound. When he says nothing, I do it again and then we're ripping each other's clothes off. He pulls my shirt up over my head and throws it on the floor before reaching for the button on my jeans. His movements are rushed. It's like if he gives himself a moment to think rationally he'll put a stop to all of this and run away.

Once we're bare, I lean forward again, placing a hand on his sternum and pushing him onto his back. I kiss his lips and work my way down until I've got his cock in my mouth. I've never given head before, but I guess there's a first time for most things. I've had my dick sucked enough times for me to know the dos and don'ts from personal experience.

"Just fuck me already," he moans impatiently.

I hollow my cheeks and pull away from his cock with a _pop_, sitting up and touching him the way I'd touch myself. "All in due time…" I take a minute to admire him looking like this. He doesn't look quite so stoic when he's writhing beneath me. It's giving me a serious hard on.

He reaches a hand into the top drawer of his nightstand a throws a condom at me as well as a bottle of something wet. "No, now," he demands.

I chuckle, opening the package and rolling it on before going down again. I pour a generous amount of lube onto his hole before fingering him.

"Now…" he pants, inching his legs further apart. It's less of a demand this time. "I can't…"

I press my lips together, trying to suppress a smirk as I slowly remove the fingers. I sit up once more and throw his legs over my shoulders. I bring him closer and position my cock against him. I close my eyes as I feel the familiar pleasure. "Oh, fuckin' hell," I mumble as I push forward.

His lips part as I ease my way in. What an erotic sight. "I can't, I can't…" he murmurs and moans to himself, sounding almost delirious. It's fucking beautiful.

I pull out halfway before thrusting back in and then doing it again and again. I revel in the sounds he's making and I know that he'll probably be filled with spite when it's over… but I want him to enjoy it until then. I reach forward and wrap my fingers around his cock once more, moving my hand up and down the shaft.

When he comes, he comes hard, letting out a sob. I follow shortly after, unable to hold back. I quicken my pace before coming to an eventual halt. I shudder, a few breaths escaping and when I pull out Craig suddenly starts crying. I feel like I should be surprised, but I'm not. I half expected him to. I bet I'm one of the only people in the entire world who have seen him cry.

For a few minutes, I just let him. I get off the bed and toss the condom into his trash bin before grabbing a tissue and wiping the tip of my dick and then Craig's stomach. His abdomen tenses at the touch and I can only sigh. Once we're clean-ish, I sit back down. I apologize, though I don't know what for and he just starts crying harder.

I lean back so we're lying side by side and I close my eyes. "What are you afraid of, Craig?" I ask gently. He won't look at me. He just continues sobbing into his hands, so I ask once more, "What are you afraid of?" My tone is soft but curious.

"Nothing," he whispers angrily, his voice wet and weak.

"I _know_ that's a lie," I point out. "We just had sex. It was good… yet you're here crying. I think you have a lot of fear and you allow it to consume you."

He grabs a handful of the bed sheets and wipes his eyes with them. "I'm not going to tell you about my fucking fears just so you can use them against me."

"I wouldn't do that," I say.

"Yes, you would."

"Want to hear about mine then?" I offer.

He turns his head and stares at me for a moment. "Why?"

"It helps to talk about things sometimes," I murmur. I give him a gentle smile before saying, "I'm afraid of being in small spaces. I guess I'm claustrophobic or whatever. When I was a kid, my parents would lock me in the little box-sized room in our basement that had the furnace. I'd be in there for hours sometimes and the sound of the furnace would drive me crazy. I guess I never really got over it."

"Oh," he mumbles hoarsely, pulling the blankets over himself.

I let out a soft sigh. "They stopped doing that when I was sixteen. Now they pretty much ignore me completely."

"Is that why you get into fights?" Craig asks.

I smile a small smile. "Yeah, maybe. Maybe I want them to pay attention to me again, even if it results in abuse. At least they'll be acknowledging me… That's all I want from them. A slap would suffice. It sounds bad, but at least I would know that they didn't forget I exist."

"That's fucked up," he whispers, looking away and up at the ceiling. He fists the bed sheets, holding them to tight his chest.

"I guess it is," I agree. I sit up and throw my clothes back on. Craig sits up and watches. He frowns at me and I ask, "What is it?"

"Come here," he says.

Without question, I move forward.

"Hit me," he demands.

"What?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Hit me," he demands again.

"Why the fuck do you want me to hit you?" I ask.

"So I can hate you and put a stop to this before it goes too far," he says. As if that makes sense. "Show me your bad side, Kenny McCormick."

"You're fucking insane," I murmur. "I'm not going to hit you."

He just sighs, flopping back onto his pillow. "Go away, then," he murmurs.

"Why?" I ask.

"You make me sick. I'll get sick if you stay."

"What the actual fuck, Craig?" I raise my voice, growing frustrated with him.

"Go away," he repeats, not fazed by my tone.

"Fine," I say, "but I'll be back." I get dressed, grab my parka and leave, closing the door behind me.

Ruby is standing there with a perverse smile. "Don't take it personally," she says, patting my shoulder.

"You were listening?" I ask with a wary sigh and she nods, as if there's not a damn thing wrong with eavesdropping on her brother getting fucked in the ass. I'll dismiss it this time. There are more important things at hand.

"Craig is always loud when he's getting boned," she says, wrinkling her nose. "It's hard _not_ to listen."

"We had sex and he literally just told me that I make him sick," I state.

"Cool it… He likes you," she whispers. "That's why he feels sick. Being around you makes him dizzy and nauseous. It's hard for him to breathe. That's the fear. He's scared. He doesn't want to lose control of his emotions and end up getting hurt. That's why he runs away from things that might be good. That's why he's such a little cocksucker, literally and figuratively."

I frown sympathetically, glancing at Craig's closed bedroom door. "I wouldn't hurt him."

"That doesn't matter," she shrugs, pocketing her hands in her cardigan. "He thinks you will. He thinks everyone will and he's so convinced of it there's no point talking reason with him. It's not always preventable, you know. He saw our mom off herself and it kind of broke him. Now he thinks all love is just a tragedy waiting to happen and it scares the living hell out of him. Everyone dies. He wants to have as little death in his life as possible."

"Life sucks," I state, starting to walk down the stairs. "You might as well enjoy it until the inevitable tragedy occurs."

"Yeah, that's how most people might see it," she agrees as she follows me, "but not Craig. He got messed up."

"What a fucking sin," I say piteously and Ruby just smiles, albeit bitterly. When we get to the bottom, she reaches forward and pulls my hood down. "What is it?" I ask, facing her.

"God damn it, you're good lookin'," she says. "Why do you wear the stupid parka?"

"Because I'm _too_ good looking," I joke. "It drives people mad."

"No, really," she laughs.

"Old habits die hard," I shrug. "Anyway, thanks for the compliment." Before I can stop her, she leans forward and pecks me on the lips. She draws back quickly and all I can do is sigh in irritation. "Ruby, what the fuck?" I groan, holding her by the shoulders so she won't try it again. "No… words can't even express how wrong that is."

"Why is it wrong?" she asks, grabbing my crotch.

"Jesus Christ!" I shout, moving away. "I just had sex with your brother," I deadpan. "I _fucked_ Craig. I had his knob in my fucking mouth and I liked it. I like _him_… just stop this shit."

"I don't care," she insists. "Come on, round two. You walk around like you're a fuckin' God. I want to know if you screw like one, too."

"Ask your brother," I say somewhat tartly. She laughs at that. I let go of her and shake my head. I slip my boots on and leave without another word.

* * *

At home, Karen is on the phone again, lounging on the sofa. She's probably talking to Ruby because once she spots me she gives me a sly and devious grin. "He's home," she says into the receiver. "Yeah, I'll call you later. Bye, bitch."

I cross my arms and stand in front of her expectantly. I know she's going to give me a mouthful. "Hey, big bro," she sings after ending the phone call.

"Hey, little sis," I greet cynically.

"I meant it when I said Craig was psychotic, you know," Karen says. "He's really fucked in the head. Falling in love isn't going to make it better. If anything, it'll make it at least fifty times worse. Love doesn't fix things for people, especially people like Craig."

"I know," I tell her. "I'll be patient."

"You can only be patient for so long."

Yeah, I'll admit that's true, but we'll see.

"As you probably know, that was Ruby on the phone." She smiles slightly.

"I'm not going to fuck your friend." I grimace.

"I wouldn't want you to," she says. "That's weird and gross."

"She threw herself at me after I was with Craig," I add, choosing my words carefully. "She touched my fuckin' cock. She won't fuck off."

"Yeah," Karen cringes. "She's pretty fond of you."

"She doesn't even fucking know me," I say.

"Everyone knows, you, Kenny," Karen corrects. "It's because you don't have many secrets. Everyone knows you're a pretty openly sexual person. Everyone knows you like wearing dresses and pretending to be a girl sometimes. Everyone knows all this shit about you. You have no secrets. Just one." She's referring to my immortality. That's always a tough one to explain, hence why it's a secret to everyone except my family and my closest friends. Eric, Stan, Bebe and Kyle are the only ones who know apart from my parents and siblings. It'll probably stay that way.

"No," I deny. "People think they know me, but they don't. It's just because everyone knows my name. They know me by reputation. People like to talk."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Karen shrugs, unconvinced. "Your reputation isn't really a lie, is it?"

I wrinkle my nose. "A lot of people think I'm complete shit," I say, "but I'm not… I try not to be good."

"I know." She smiles and it's not as cynical. "You _are_ good."

I like to think it's true. "I don't know myself," I say. "If I don't know me, then there's no fucking way anyone else does."


	10. SM: Playing card games

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Wow, I finally have internet! Thanks for being patient! I'm also done exams so I'm finished school until my summer course starts! But it's only one, so I'll have plenty of time to write. **

**Some new names in this chapter. They're all actual characters though. I don't even know what's going on with this story. This is more crack than I've ever written, but bear with me. **

**Stan's POV**

* * *

We have to do the dumbass presentation today. I always get uncomfortable standing up in front of the class. I think Kyle knows this because a moment ago he leaned forward and whispered, "I'll do most of the talking. You can click the PowerPoint slides on the computer."

When the teacher enters the room, she invites the first group to the front of the class. They present on J.K. Rowling. Kyle smirks at Kenny, who rolls his eyes. He predicted someone would present on the creator of the infamous _Harry Potter_ series.

After they are finished, it's our turn and true to his words, Kyle does most of the talking. He's a natural when it comes to this kind of thing.

"…famous for writing classic children's stories such as _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_ and _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_…" he says, waving his hands around as he speaks.

After Kyle is finished, Cartman talks sloppily about Twain's views – the rights of Native Americans, African Americans, women and even animals. Things Cartman probably doesn't care too much about because he's a pig.

Kenny talks about his later life and death and Kyle wraps it up. "Right," Kyle says, "So, as you can see…" He explains how Twain's stories and characters are considered precious. by many All in all, it goes perfectly. If I were to have spoken, it would have went less than so.

We take our seats and watch the rest of the presentations. Thank God that's over.

* * *

"See, it was fine," Cartman says after class. "We _so_ got an A."

"All thanks to Kyle," I add.

Kyle smiles, rolling his eyes. "You guys helped a lot, too. Well, aside from you, asshole."

"AY!"

We helped as much as he would let us.

During lunch, Kenny ditches us to sit with Craig, Bebe and Clyde. We haven't mentioned the fact that we made out again and he hasn't propositioned me after I told him I was kind of sort of maybe into Kyle. Christ, it sounds weird, even when I say it to myself. Stan and Kyle, super best friends. Stan and Kyle, more than that? I don't know… but I did ask Kyle and he made damn sure I realized he was straight as a pole. I don't know whether or not I believe him. Oh, well. I'm still going to tell him… eventually. He can decide the rest.

"You guys goin' to Clyde's tonight?" Cartman asks. "He's havin' a get together… It'll probably turn into an open house party."

"Yeah, I'll go," I say, glancing at Kyle.

"I'll come, too," he smiles.

"Then I guess that means I _have_ to come," Cartman sighs. "Otherwise I might miss something good."

By that, he means he might miss Kenny, Kyle and I make fools of ourselves.

* * *

I go home alone today and when I return, no one is here. I assume Mom's at work. Shelly probably is, too. I take my shoes and coat off, tossing my back pack near the stairwell so I'll remember to take it to my room later. Since I have time to waste, I decide to make myself a salad. I hum as I gather ingredients and a few minutes later, the door swings open. I peek my head out the kitchen door and see Shelly.

"Hey," I greet.

"Turd," she murmurs.

"I'm making a salad," I tell her. "Do you want some?"

"Sure," she says.

I nod, going back into the kitchen. She joins me a moment later, flopping into a chair at the table. I still find it weird that we haven't been fighting. I wonder if things will ever be normal again. Neither of us say anything for a long time. I finish making the salad and get out bowls, pouring her one and myself one.

"Here," I murmur, placing it on front of her and handing her a fork. She doesn't thank me, but I wouldn't really want her to. I sit down across from her and eat quietly.

"Dad called this afternoon," she suddenly says.

"What?" I raise a brow, looking up at her.

She nods. "You were at school and Mom was already at work. I was about to leave but the phone rang."

"What did he say?" I ask, feeling impatient and anxious.

"Nothing," she says. "He just sighed into the receiver then hung up."

"Christ," I mumble. "What a moron… I'm really glad Mom wasn't here to answer that phone call."

"But maybe he would have spoken if she answered it instead of me."

"I don't know," I shrug. "Maybe, maybe not."

We're silent again, and that's okay. I finish eating and discard my dishes in the sink before going leaving the room without another word. I grab my book bag and go upstairs, where I change my shirt and pocket my cellphone.

Back downstairs, I put on my jacket and my rode off Timberland boots, shivering as I step outside.

Parties used to be exciting, now they're just a pretty normal occurrence. Weekends are boring in small towns. This is all we really have to do.

* * *

Upon arrival, I spot Craig sitting on a sofa with Jessie. They're sloppily making out and she's got what looks like a pretty tight grip on his shoulder. It doesn't take a genius to know what's up, especially seeing that one of Craig's hands is disappearing up her skirt. He's touching her. I roll my eyes at the sight and walk off to find Kyle and the fat ass.

I turn into the kitchen and find Kyle, Cartman, Bebe, Clyde, Kal, and Tweek all playing cards at the table. It makes me chuckle. Kyle is really good at cards and Cartman always cheats.

"Hey, Stan," Kyle grins upon noticing me hovering.

I hold up a hand and wave. "What game are you guys playing?" I ask, spotting the plastic chips. "Poker?"

"Yeah, poker," he tells me. I walk behind him and stare down at his deck. I never played poker before, so I have no idea if it's a good deck or a bad one.

"We should make the next round strip poker," Kal suggests with a lewd grin. I think she's joking… I _think_.

"Hell no," Kyle snorts and Tweek just twitches a few times. It's pretty hard to imagine Kenny tapping that, to be quite frank.

Kal chuckles dismissively. I watch the group of them play for a little while, standing behind Kyle the entire time and observing his deck.

When his turn comes round, he smiles and lays his cards down, saying, "Royal flush." I guess he had a good deck after all.

"Well, fuck," Cartman deadpans.

"Hey, Stan," Bebe says, "Do you want to join in on the next game?"

"I don't even know how to play poker," I snort, "and if we're doing strip poker, I definitely don't want to play because I'll be the first one naked."

"Aw," she coos. "Don't worry; we'll all be keeping our clothes on. Right, Kal?" She gives the curly haired brunette a pointed look.

"Right," Kal giggles.

"Well, all right," I shrug. "I've got nothing to lose, then." Since the table only seats six, I ask, "Is there a spare chair around?"

"No, sorry, dude," Clyde says.

"We can share," Kyle suggests.

"Er, okay," I say. He moves to the edge of the seat, leaving me a small space and half my ass is falling off the chair. "This ain't gonna work," I tell him flat out.

He presses his lips together for a moment before saying, "Then you sit here, I'll sit on your lap."

"Wow, gay," Cartman laughs.

Kyle stands up and I sit down. Bebe is chuckling at the whole ordeal as she shuffles the cards. "You two are cute as hell," she says, all smiley.

I raise a brow and so does Kyle. Then he sits on my lap like it's no big deal and I'm just hoping I don't get any dirty thoughts and spring wood on him. That would be an awkward one to explain.

"I'm going to sit this one out," Kyle says, putting an arm around my neck to keep himself from slipping off my lap.

"Aw, why?" Bebe asks.

"I'll help Stan out," he decides, "we'd just end up seeing each other's cards anyway. We're sitting too close... Besides, it'll allow someone else to win for a change."

"Okay, fair enough," she grins, dealing the cards.

Kyle explains the rules to me, but I still don't quite get it, so he ends up telling me which cards to play. I don't think he minds my idiocy though, because he's been smiling all night. Seeing it makes me smile, too.

* * *

I end up winning all thanks to Kyle and Cartman is chagrined. "That ain't fuckin' fair, you had the damn Jew helping you out the whole time," he sulks.

I just laugh at him. "Don't be a bitch, dude." A moment later I feel my cellphone vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out and see a message from Kenny.

KENNY M: _staaan help! where is everyone _

I pat Kyle's side and he stands up. "I'm going to see I if I can find Kenny," I announce. "I think he got lost amongst the crowd of people out there."

"Okay," Bebe laughs. "Bring him in here if you do, yeah?"

I stand up and Kyle sits back down. "I will," I tell her.

"I'm getting restless," Kal announces vaguely. "I'll see you guys around." She stands up and follows me out.

"What're you gonna do now?" I ask her.

She taps her chin with her pointer finger and muses, "Hm…" Her eyes settle on Craig Tucker, who is no longer with her best friend. As if reading her mind, Craig looks at her from across the room. "I'm going to _socialize_," she tells me with a devious look. This won't be Kal's first time trying to get with Craig. Maybe he'll give her what she wants this time. The last time it happened we were only kids and she was under the unfortunate influence of the Stupid Spoiled Whore Video Playset. She wanders off before I can tell her Craig just hooked up with Jessie. Oh well, I guess it isn't really my business.

Most of the senior year is here and even some sophomores and juniors and freshmen… Holy shit! Speaking of, there's Karen and Ruby. Making out. I stare for a minute, somewhat mesmerized before snapping myself out of it. I definitely shouldn't be watching that. I turn away and enter the lobby. A few minutes later, I spot a familiar orange parka wandering throughout the crowd of kids.

"Hey, Ken!" I shout, calling him over.

He turns around and approaches me. "Hey, dude," he greets, muffled.

"Did you just get here?" I ask.

"Yeah," he nods, glancing around the room. "Have you seen Craig?"

"I saw him twice," I tell him. "He's slutting it up big time… First he was with Jessie. They were kind of huddled in the corner. I think he was fingering her because she was squirming around on his lap… Now he is with Jessie's best friend, Kal… I don't think either of them knows. It's like Craig is making a game out of it all by going after the both of them. He probably hopes it's going to cause them to fight like it did with Lola and Annie." I roll my eyes and shake my head. "He's such a fucking dick." But to be honest, Kal and Jessie are big into sharing and they probably won't care that they both screwed around with the same guy.

Kenny groans loudly once I'm done talking. "I slept with him," he admits miserably.

"What?" I ask, somewhat horrified.

"I slept with Craig," he repeats. "It was good… but then it was bad. I don't know why he's doing this."

I just shrug. "For some people it's easier to fuck around than to stay still. It's easier to fuck around with everyone than be with someone who cares because then you risk getting hurt."

"I know," he murmurs tartly.

"Anyway," I say, "your girlfriend said if I found you to bring you into the kitchen. They're playing card games."

"Which games?" he asks.

"Right now, they're playing some poker," I tell him.

"Strip poker?"

I roll my eyes. "No, not strip poker, just normal poker."

"Okay," he chuckles. "So, who is all playing?"

"Just come," I nod for him to follow me. He does so and the two of us are back in the kitchen. Inside, Bebe opens her arms for him and he bends down, giving her a hug. He takes his hood off a moment later and pecks her on the lips.

"How's poker?" he asks with a smile.

"Kyle keeps winning," she says.

"The fuckin' Jew can probably count cards," Cartman mutters.

"That's mainly used in blackjacks, you dumb cow," Kyle retorts.

Kenny laughs good naturedly. He takes Bebe's seat and allows her to sit on his lap. I do the same with Kyle once more, deciding to sit this one out. Instead, I watch Kyle play. It probably sounds creepy, like something Cartman would say, but I enjoy watching him. I like being near him like this and being able to just soak up his body heat. I'm beginning to really realize how much I love being with him. Love… what a word. I don't want to get carried away too soon, but I definitely don't think this is a phase anymore. I think it's real… and frankly, that kind of scares me.

I wrap an arm around his waist so he doesn't slip off my knee. He smiles at me before staring down at his cards.

Yeah, love.


	11. KM: When there is love

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Woah, almost 100 reviews! You guys are the best :) **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

After watching a few too many games of poker, I ditch the kitchen crew and decide to try and make my way through the other seniors. Stan comes with me, not very card savvy either. I pull my hood back up before entering the lobby and Stan decides to tell me something I'd rather not know once we're far enough away.

"Dude, I saw Karen making out with Ruby Tucker on a sofa earlier," he reveals. "A bunch of dudes were watching and whistling."

"That's probably why they did it," I mumble. "They like getting a reaction from people."

"Hm," Stan muses.

"Anyway, dude, if you ever see that kind of shit again… do me a favour and don't tell me, okay?" I laugh.

"Right, sorry," he smiles sheepishly.

"Why the hell is she even here?" I ask. "She always avoids parties I go to for this precise reason."

"Dunno, dude," Stan shrugs. "Go ask her."

"Later, perhaps," I say. Then again, I don't really need to ask her. She's probably here because Ruby wants my dick and Karen knows that makes me thoroughly uncomfortable.

"There's Craig," Stan points across the room. "He's at it again, by the looks of things…"

I turn and immediately spot him talking to fuckin' Bill Allen. Gross! Of all people! I feel my eyes narrowing… He better not do what I think he's about to do.

Craig stares at me from across the room and places a palm on the cheek of Bill, who is standing in front of him. God, I want to puke. He leans forward and they start kissing. He knows I'm watching. He _wants_ me to see it. This is his way of telling me to stop lingering, to stop trying to damn hard, to leave him alone so he won't have to keep thinking about what happened and what could happen. He's afraid, but if he'd allow me to speak to him I would tell him that it doesn't matter because even if he avoids me, it doesn't mean his feelings will disappear.

Bill slips a hand beneath Craig's shirt and I feel my jaw tighten. He allows this fucker to touch him, but he won't let me… and why? Because I care and Bill doesn't.

"Is Craig like… a whore or something?" Stan asks.

"Wendy would choke you if she heard you using that word in that context," I murmur offhandedly, still staring intently at the gruesome sight of Bill and Craig. I don't want to keep staring, but I can't help it. It's like watching a car crash. It's gross and messy and scary and upsetting, but you can't look away.

"Earth to Kenny?" Stan calls, waving a hand in my face.

"Fuck," I say, groaning.

They leave soon after and I don't hesitate to follow them, pressing my ear to the door of the room they're inside. Stan is behind me, a little wary. "What are you doing, dude?" he asks me with a sigh.

I put a finger to my lips and say, "Sh." It's difficult to hear with the loud music coming from the living room but it doesn't take a genius to know what's going on in there. I close my eyes and rub my tired eyes. Craig Tucker is one stupid fucker.

"_More… Harder_…_!_" comes Craig's voice, sounding like he's getting drunk off Bill's hate. Fuck, this is gross. Maybe I should give him the space he's asking for. I move away from the door and decide to leave. I'm not really in the partying mood anymore.

On my way, Stan stops me. "Dude, you okay?" I just shake my head and he frowns sympathetically. "Want me to walk you home?" he offers.

"Please…" I murmur.

He nods, fetching his jacket and the two of us leave.

"Are you coming back here after?" I ask.

"Probably," he says.

"This is upsetting," I say. "I want Craig to just… be normal… but I know that's insensitive of me to say. He can't help it. He's scared. People do stupid things when they're scared."

"Yeah," Stan says softly.

We enter the cold, night air. I continue to rant and Stan allows it. I'll need to talk to Bebe about this soon enough, but I have a feeling she'll be very helpful and sympathetic. She always is.

* * *

When we get to my house, I pull my hood down, thanking Stan and pecking him on the lips. He nods, smiling at me. "Feel better," he says.

I only nod and we both part ways. He walks back to the party and I walk up my driveway, through the front door.

Inside, my parents are seated in front of the television. They don't bother greeting me, so I head upstairs right away. I turn into Kevin's room and flop onto his bed. My brother is shit as company, but I don't want to be alone right now.

"What is it, Ken?" he asks offhandedly. He's lying next to me, typing something on his phone.

"I'm angry," I murmur.

"Welcome to the club," he snorts.

"Why are _you_ angry?"

"My supplier fucked me and now I've got a bunch of pissed off clients," he says with a sigh.

"Sucks," I mumble.

Kevin just nods before asking, "So, what's got your goat?"

"This guy I know, Craig, is being a bitch," I say. "I don't know why but he keeps pushing everyone away and it's tiring. He likes to play games with people… It's funny… I started this game. I thought it was going my way but I got sucked in. Now he's turned the tables."

"Well, punch him," Kevin says, as if violence is the solution to all of life's worst problems.

I stare at him, frowning. "That wouldn't solve a damn thing." Especially since Craig _wants_ me to hit him.

Kevin smirks. "You wouldn't hit him even if it was gonna solve somethin'. You're too nice. That's why this shit happens."

"Fuck off," I tell him. "That's total bullshit and you know it. There's nothing wrong with being nice. There's nothing wrong with trying to be a good person."

"Yeah, right," Kevin snorts.

"You have a habit of always making me feel worse, you know," I point out dryly.

"Yet you're here again," he says.

"Not really sure why," I tartly insist.

"Because you're upset and don't want to be left alone right now," he says, analysing me easily.

"Yeah," I admit.

"So, by the sounds of it, you've got a bit of a boy-crush on this Craig fag," Kevin laughs. "Just go talk to him and sort that shit out… Isn't that the kinda thing you'd usually do?"

"Yeah," I say again, "but it's not working. He won't let me. He just gets angry and upset and goes fucking mental."

"Keep trying," Kevin tells me. "He'll break eventually."

"Yeah, I know…" I murmur.

* * *

The following evening I decide to go visit Craig, just like Kevin said. I don't bother knocking, mainly because I don't want to see Ruby and Craig never answers the damn door. If Craig isn't here, I'll just slip back out as quiet as I came in.

I walk softly up the stairs and push Craig's door open before peering inside. Fortunately, Craig _is _here. He's sitting on his bed wearing a t-shirt and shorts, but the first thing I notice are the bruise. "What the fuck happened to you?" I yell. He's got a yellow-purple-black mark on the right side of his face and it looks like he was smacked there repeatedly.

He lets out a careless sigh. "I thought I told you to go away." There's a book in his hand, but he throws it at the wall when I speak.

"I told you I'd come back."

"What if I don't want you to?"

"Too bad, then," I say. "Did Bill do that to you?"

"I asked him to," Craig reveals.

"Why?" I raise a brow.

"Because it's fun," he explains simply.

"That makes no fucking sense."

"It does. It makes perfect sense."

"How the hell does it make sense?" I ask, drawing closer.

He sinks into himself, refusing to look at me.

"Why are you scared?" I ask, raising my voice. "There's nothing I can do to you that you haven't already done to yourself."

"You're wrong," he whispers so quietly I barely hear the words. "Leave…"

"No," I refuse.

"Leave!" he shouts. I'm still not used to him raising his voice.

"No!" I shout back and he shudders. "What scares you?" I ask him. "Tell me the fucking truth for once and I'll leave you alone. I'll leave after we're done this conversation and I swear I won't come back unless you ask me to."

"I won't," he murmurs.

"Then that's fine," I insist, though it's far from it. "I just want answers… What scares you?"

Silence.

I grab him by the shoulders, shaking him. "Talk!" I demand.

He takes a shaky breath. "Losing control," he says.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Hard drugs, too much alcohol…" he starts, "Love and falling in love…" So, he finally admits it.

"Falling in love," I repeat, letting go of his shoulders and sitting across from him on the mattress.

"Yes, falling in love."

"You're afraid of falling in love?" I reiterate. "Have you ever been in love before?"

"No, and I don't ever want to be."

"You truly are a mystery, Craig Tucker," I say. "Love is a beautiful thing."

"It's not. Love is the cruellest emotion humans are capable of feeling."

"It will happen someday," I tell him. "Pretty much everyone falls in love at some point. You can't control it."

"Don't say that," he snaps.

"Why?" I ask. "It's true."

"I can try," he murmurs.

I just roll my eyes at him.

"Sometimes I sleep with people I hate and who hate me," he admits. "That's why I slept with Bill."

"Yeah, I know…" I frown. "That's really fucking sad…"

"Hate can cause destruction, but love can ruin a person. I don't mind chaos, but I don't want to break."

He rejects love and accepts hate. I don't understand it. "Love is nice," I say.

"In the end," he starts, "it just means you have more to lose."

"Really, Craig?" I murmur sadly.

"My mom put me in piano lessons," he says suddenly. "She's the only reason I played that stupid fucking thing. I hated it. Since she's gone, I don't really have a reason to keep playing."

"Is that why you can't sleep?" I ask. "You saw something horrible and when you close your eyes, you see it. When you dream, you see it. It's stuck to the back of your eyelids and that's why you can't sleep."

He gives me an icy stare and I can tell I've hit the nail head on. He swallows audibly and his eyes glaze over. "You're an idiot," he says, before letting out a quiet and rather sudden sob.

"Sorry," I whisper.

"What the fuck for?" he asks wetly.

"I made you cry again."

"You're an idiot," he repeats. "You're a fucking idiot."

"I know," I admit, "but at least I don't deny my faults."

He closes his eyes. "Fuck you."

"Already happened," I mention.

He stares at me with glassy eyes. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to."

"But why?" he asks again. "What else is there? Why are you still here?"

"I like you," I say. "I want to get to know you."

His jaw tightens. "I don't want that."

"You might not want it," I admit, "but I think you need it. You need people that you can trust."

"I don't _need_ anything!" he snaps, wiping his cheeks dry. "There is nothing you can possibly offer me that I'll want, so fuck off already!" He stands up and suddenly we're standing face to face.

"No," I say.

Then he hits me square in the nose. I stumble backwards, but I don't fall. It hurts, but I just laugh. "I'm not going to fucking hit you back, you fucking psycho," I whisper angrily.

He hits me again.

And again.

Every time I try to open my mouth, he hits me. This is when I get pissed. I grab his hands and shove him roughly into the wall before hitting him as hard as I fucking can. "Fuck you, Craig Tucker!" I yell before beating my fist against his face again. "IS THIS WHAT YOU FUCKING WANT?" I scream. He sinks to the floor and I sink down next to him. We're both panting. My nose is still bleeding. It's running into my parka. I look down at my hand and the blood on my knuckles. I shudder, wiping them off on my jeans.

"Yes," he finally says, sitting up. "That is what I want."

I stare at him. I stare at what I did. His lip is bleeding and he's got a blooming black eye on top of the bruise Bill gave him. Fuck, he looks like hell and his eyes are wet again. "Sorry… I'm fucking sorry…"

"You're not supposed to apologize," he states. "You're ruining it."

"So, do you hate me now?" I ask, knowing that's what he's aiming for.

He wipes the blood off his lip. "No… but I should, shouldn't I?" He frowns, as if he's confused. "I don't know… I don't know why… Why don't I hate you?" he asks weakly, staring at me with a helpless look.

"Because, contrary to popular belief, love and hate aren't comparable," I explain easily. "When there's love, there isn't hate." I touch my nose and find that it's finally stopped bleeding.

"I don't love you," Craig whispers. "I don't love anyone…"

"Okay, Craig," I say. I remove my bloody hood and let out a breath, lying backwards on his carpet. I'm gonna have to wash more blood out of my favorite coat when I get home.

He moves closer and leans over me. "What now?" he asks, hovering over me.

"I'll leave," I say. "You were honest. I'll leave if you want me to… Just say you want me to leave… and I will. It's okay."

His lower lip trembles. "I don't know what I want," he admits weakly.

"That's okay, too, Craig," I tell him gently.

He leans down and presses his lips gingerly to mine. I taste the metallic tang of blood and it's mixed with salty tears, but I don't mind. Fuck it, I don't mind.

"Leave… Please," he murmurs against my mouth a moment later.

So I do.


	12. KB: Don't eat that

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Thanks for over 100 reviews! **

**Also, I hope everyone had/has a good holiday. **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

We all crashed at Stan's house last night, sans Kenny, who went home early. When I finally open my eyes, Stan is already wide awake. "Good morning," I say, sitting up and stretching my arms.

"G'morning," he smiles from the doorway. "I was just coming to check on you."

"Is Cartman still unconscious downstairs?" I ask.

"Yeah," Stan snickers. "He's on the sofa."

"Think he'll be hung over?"

"Most likely," he laughs. "Tits chugged a lot of liquor last night."

Fortunately, Stan's mom wasn't mad that we all crashed at the Marsh house like a bunch of drunks. Me and Stan sobered up by the time we arrived back, so we weren't falling all over the place like Cartman. Funny. Last night, he was the one making a fool of himself.

"He's going to be a treat to deal with," I say dryly, getting out of bed.

"Hungry?" Stan offers.

"Not really." I make my way to the doorway and the two of us walk downstairs.

"Oh," Stan mumbles. "Well, I'll make something for myself, then… Let me know if you suddenly get hungry."

"Will do, Stan."

He offers a smile before peering into the fridge and I take a seat at the kitchen table.

"Turn off the light," a voice hisses upon entry. Cartman is standing there, shielding his eyes and looking particularly sour.

"Someone is hung over," I observe.

"Dude, I can't turn the lights off, I'm making food," Stan frowns.

Cartman groans loudly, taking a seat and pressing his forehead against the kitchen table. "We've told you many times that you should drink some water, but you didn't listen," I say, taking mild pleasure in his well-deserved agony.

"Yeah, yeah," he growls, "Do us all a favor and shut the fuck up."

"Guys, don't fight," Stan warns us as he cuts fruit.

"Fuck," I murmur, annoyed.

"What's up your ass this morning?" Cartman asks me.

"I don't understand why you insist on making everything your business."

Cartman lifts his head, squinting, "For the same reasons you do math, and study on weekends."

I raise an eyebrow.

"You enjoy it," he continues.

"And you enjoy making everyone's business your own?" I ask.

"Glad you caught on, wise one," he says sarcastically.

"Hm," I muse. I can't deny I enjoy studying. I don't understand why people don't enjoy it. It's exciting learning new things, and applying what you've learned… Or maybe I'm just a huge nerd.

Cartman lets out another moan, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes.

"Get some water," Stan says.

"My head hurts too badly," Cartman whines some more, "I can't move that far."

"Goddammit," I shake my head, going to fetch him a glass of water so he'll stop whining. "Drink it all," I instruct, placing the glass in front of him.

"Did you poison it?" His eyes narrow.

I scoff, "If I had poison handy, I would have killed you last night and then blamed it on your drunken stupidity."

"I see you have this all planned out," he says with what sounds like mock suspicion.

I roll my eyes, "Just drink the water."

"Thanks, Kahl," he says in a sweet, simpering tone, reaching for the glass.

"Yeah, yeah…" I mumble, sitting across from him.

Stan places a bowl in front of me even though I said I'm not hungry. Fruit salad. Simple stuff at least. As we eat, Stan watches me with a careful eye. He's not very stealthy about it, either. I prod at the food with my fork until taking the first bite.

"You were drunk last night, even though you only had one drink," Stan points out. "It wasn't even a strong drink…"

"So?" I ask.

"You're eating… right?" he asks.

I scoff. "What the fuck am I doing right now, Stan? I'm eating."

* * *

The rest of the weekend was slow and now it's Monday again. After school, my mother and father and Ike are all sitting in the living room. I can tell something stupid is about to happen.

"What's this?" I ask suspiciously.

"Bubby, we want to talk with you about something Ike feels is very important," Mom mentions gently.

I raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"Kyle," Ike starts, "I want you to see a therapist."

I let out a cut laugh. "And why the hell do I need to do that?"

"Don't pretend," he whispers. "I'm not fucking blind, so don't treat me like I can't see what's going on."

"Please tell me exactly what's going on," I snap, "because I don't really get what the hell this is all about."

"Your fucking OCD, Kyle!" he exclaims. "And don't think we're oblivious to your food intake, either. It's less and less every damn day."

I inhale sharply before letting out a long breath. "I'm fine," I say.

"Stop lying!" Ike pleads.

I look at my parents. "Well…?" I ask.

"Maybe you should see a doctor…" Mom agrees slowly. "You… You haven't been eating very much."

"I'm too angry to eat!" I yell stupidly and the answer makes no sense, even to me. I'm just scrambling for an excuse because the truth is too hard to say. I'm just sick of everyone talking about it. I had forgotten about it until recently. I made myself forget. It's easier that way. For a while, at least – until those feelings come back. Then it's even worse than before.

"We can't afford for you to relapse, Kyle," Dad adds. "You were doing so well…"

"Oh, I'm so sorry _we_ can't afford it," I whisper cynically. "I forgot this was about you guys. I almost forgot you were a _big_, _fancy_ lawyer. Fuck my feelings so long as your reputation is okay! We wouldn't want your clients knowing that your own son is a fuck up, would we?"

"That's not what we're saying," Ike cuts in, exasperated.

I can't be here anymore. Without bothering to kick off my shoes, I run upstairs. I lock my bedroom and rip off my jacket and throw my shoes against my wall. Surprised at myself, I immediately hang up my coat and place my shoes neatly in my closet.

"Stop this…" I whisper to myself, standing alone in my dark room. "This isn't me… This isn't me." I let out a breath, feeling clammy. I take off my clothes, placing them all in my laundry basket.

I sift through my closet for something more comfortable to wear, coming across many of Stan's hand-me-downs. I have a lot of his old clothing because when I stopped growing, he kept growing. These days, his clothes are too big for me so now Kenny gets his hand-me-downs.

I fist one of his t-shirts. It's red – his favourite color. It feels like him… It feels like Stan. I loosen my grip, slowly picking the piece of clothing up and putting it on before finding a pair of pajama pants that also once belonged to Stan.

Once I'm dressed, I make my bed and sit on it. There's a knock on my door, but I ignore it. It happens again a moment later and I hear my mom call, "Kyle?"

I don't respond.

"Kyle!"

I still don't respond.

I hear her digging at the lock, probably trying to pick it open. I close my eyes and hear the door click and then creek open. I bring my legs to my chest and hug them tight, burying my face into my knees. I hear my mom draw closer and I feel the bed indent as she sits on the edge. "Ike came home from school today and do you know what he did, Kyle?" she asks me. Without waiting for a response, she answers her own question. "He cried. He was crying for _you_, his big brother. He's concerned. He's scared. "

"Well, I'm scared, too!" I yell, raising my head and opening my eyes.

"Why?" she asks weakly. "Bubby, talk to me. I can't help if you don't talk to me."

"It's not my fault!" I continue yelling. "It's not my fault I'm like this! It's everyone else! I can't… I can't fucking handle it…! I can't even breathe!" The words leave my mouth with barely any thought. I feel the tears slipping and I can't be fucked to brush them away.

She looks like she's at a loss. She just opens her arms and pulls my close. I sob and apologize repeatedly, though part of me isn't even sure why I'm saying sorry. Everything is just too fucked up.

After I quiet down substantially, to the point of whimpers and hiccups, Ike shows up in the doorway with Stan. I spot them over my mom's shoulder. One part of me wants to tell Stan to leave, because I don't want him seeing me like this… but the larger part of me wants him to stay because I feel like I need him. I move away from my mom and Stan takes a step into my room.

"Kyle…" he says my name quietly, eyebrows drawn together sadly.

"Stan," I say weakly. He approaches me and opens his arms. I stand up and hug him, pressing my face into his strong chest. I don't know for how long, but eventually my mom gets up and leaves and Ike stops hovering in the doorway.

Stan and I settle on my bed when I'm no longer crying. He sits against my pillow and I sit between his legs, my back pressed up against his chest. He has his arms locked around my stomach and neither of us speaks for a long time.

There's a voice in my head and it tells me what to do.

_Don't eat that. Don't eat that because you don't need it. You'll regret it. Control yourself. _

_Wash your hands. It will make everything okay. You don't want to make them angry, just wash your hands. _

_Keep things in order. It will make everything okay. You don't want to make them angry, so just make sure everything is perfect. _

_Control yourself._

_Be perfect._

_You don't want to make them angry. _

_Make it okay. _

_Make it okay, Kyle. It's so simple. This is all you need to do, so do it. Do it, Kyle. Do it now. _

I want to listen, but Stan has his arms around me and I can't move. I squeeze my eyes shut as thoughts bombard my brain and when I open them, it brings on a new onslaught of tears. Stan continues holding me tightly as I shake and quietly sob. He has a hand on my stomach and I want him to move it, but I can't get the words out.

"Ike called me," Stan finally says. When I don't respond, he just adds, "It's fine, you don't have to talk… I'll just talk a bit, if it's okay." He tightens his grip on me even more. "We're all worried about you. I think Cartman is even a bit worried… You haven't been yourself."

I let out a breath, wanting him to stop.

"Your mom made the appointment, Kyle," he says gently. "It's tomorrow at noon. They were able to get you in early."

I swallow a whimper and breathe. "Will you come?" I ask, tearing up yet again.

"Yeah," he says, "I'll come." He loosens his grip on my and brings one hand to my forehead. "You're all right…" he says. "Everything is going to be okay, even though it isn't right now. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I murmur, wiping my eyes.

"Hm," he muses, lowering his hand and wrapping it around my shoulders. I feel his chin on top of my head and I feel him sigh into my hair. "I'm not," he insists. "This is a promise I can keep."

"Are you sure you want to?" I wonder aloud.

"I want to," he says.

"Why?"

"You're my best friend," he tells me. "I fucking love you."

"Can we rest?" I suddenly ask, not in the mood to talk about things deemed important.

"Sure, Kyle," he says. He lets go of me so we can get comfortable beneath the blankets.

"I'll be fine," I say aloud, trying to convince myself of it. "I'll be fine."

"Yes," Stan agrees. "You'll be fine."

"I'll be fine," I say again, "but right now I'm not." I guess I'm just giving him the confession he wants.

"Right," Stan agrees once more, "and that's okay, Kyle."

"I don't want to see a doctor…" I whisper.

"I'm sorry," Stan apologizes, "but you need to see a doctor. If you don't, then everything will just get worse."

I let out a breath, clinging to Stan as if he holds the key to my sanity.

It's a strange and sad feeling… having your own body as the enemy.

* * *

Stan stays the night. Neither of us goes to school on Tuesday. When I wake up, he is no longer in my bed. Instead, I find him downstairs having coffee with my parents.

"Hey, Kyle," he greets, being the first one to spot me.

"Hi, Bubby," Mom smiles. "We were just about to wake you."

"Kyle," says my dad. "Are you ready to see the doctor?"

I close my eyes. Forced help doesn't work and I don't know if I'm ready to say I need it. It's easier to deny it. "No," I say.

They all look nervous. Stan gets to his feet and abandons his half empty cup of coffee. "Let's get ready for the day, yeah?" He tries to usher me back upstairs.

"I am ready," I murmur.

"You're wearing pajamas," he notes. "My old pajamas…"

"I like them," I softly admit. "They feel like you."

He smiles. "All right," he relents. "Should we head out, then?"

Downstairs, my parents look like they're ready to leave. "I don't want you to come," I tell them.

They frown at this. "But Kyle –" my mom starts.

"No," I cut her off. "You're not coming."

She shares a look with my dad, but they relent. They hand Stan the car keys and my dad says, "We're trusting you with him."

"Okay," Stan says quietly, taking the keys.

We both look like we just rolled out of bed as we leave the house. I suppose we just _did_ roll out of bed. We get into the car and Stan starts it, pulling out of the driveway. The drive is quiet and it makes me feel anxious. I just want Stan to fucking say something.

"Stan?" I say his name.

He sighs. "Kyle… I really hope you take these sessions seriously. I need you to… I want you to be happy. You deserve to be so fucking happy. I just wish you could see that."

"Shut up," I murmur.

We arrive to the therapist's office soon and Stan parks the car. We walk inside and Stan does all the talking for me at the receptionist's desk.

There's a woman screaming nearby, sound like she's going mad. That's not me… I don't fucking know why I'm here because I'm not like that. I'm not like her. I'm not fucking mental. I don't belong here. I don't _need_ to be here.

"Kyle Broflovski," I hear my name get called.

I look at Stan, who simply nods and the two of us stand, following an aged man into an office. The room is small. There is only a desk and a sofa, with some documents hanging on the wall. When I look closer, I see that they are degrees.

Stan and I sit on the sofa while the doctor sits behind his desk. He begins speaking, introducing himself and asking who Stan is. I don't respond, so Stan answers for me. "I'm Stan, Kyle's best friend."

The doctor gives me a gentle smile. "Kyle…? Do you want to answer the next question?"

"No," I murmur airily.

"Why not?" he asks. "Do you know why you're here?"

"I don't know why," I admit, staring everywhere but at him.

"I think you do," he insists.

"I don't," I repeat myself. "Everyone is being really dramatic."

"Okay," he relents before requesting, "How about you tell me about your family."

Stan offers his hand and I hold it tightly, probably a little too tightly but he doesn't mention it. "Not really," I say.

"This isn't going to work out if you aren't going to talk, Kyle," the doctor says softly.

Stan gives me a gentle nudge, urging me to say something. I press my lips together for a moment before sighing. "I have a brother who is thirteen," I tell him. "His name is Ike… Well, Isaac Moisha, but we call him Ike. He's adopted from Canada." It's not anything immensely important or relevant… but it's something. It's a start.

* * *

After a lot of questions without answers, after a few too many angry tears from me, and after a few strings of expletives from Stan, the doctor seems satisfied but he wants to make the sessions regular. Stan, on the other hand, seems angry.

"Why are you mad?" I ask weakly on the drive back home.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. "I'm not."

"You are!" I call him out on lying. "Why are you so mad?"

"Because," is all he says.

When we arrive back to my place, I feel distraught and shaky. Stan confronts my mom and he gets upset. "_YOU_ DID THIS TO HIM!" I hear him shout at her. Mom looks taken aback, but she says nothing so Stan continue shouting. "I knew it! I bet even the damn doctor probably assumed as much! If you weren't constantly trying to control _every_ aspect of his life, then maybe he wouldn't have so much fucking anxiety! He wouldn't be like _this_!" Like this?

I expect her to start screaming back at him, but she doesn't. "Stanley," she says in an eerily calm tone, "I think you should leave now."

"Why?" he asks angrily. "So you can fuck him up some more?"

While they yell, I wander into the kitchen in a daze and eat an apple. Healthy food. _Food_. I feel nauseous and my stomach is in knots even before I get the food down. I don't know if it's because I'm hungry or if it's because I'm upset. Nonetheless, I force myself to eat, ignoring the voice that is telling me to stopstopstopstopstop but I can't block out the angry voices coming from the other side of the wall. Ike is trying to calm everyone down, but it's not working.

When I'm done I wash everything down with a glass of water. Then, I feel sicker. I can feel the contents of my gut shift. I let out a breath, holding onto the counter with one hand as I bend over and proceed to vomit on the floor.

My mom shovels into the kitchen a split second later. She's in a frenzy, probably having heard me puke. "Kyle, no!" she shouts at me. My Dad looks mortified, Ike looks sad and Stan looks devastated.

Suddenly, everything is quiet. No one is yelling, but I can tell they're angry.

I stare down at the repulsive mess, feeling disgusted with myself. I leave the room quickly and run upstairs, shutting myself away in the bathroom. I strip out of my clothing and get in the shower, sitting on the tiles and letting the water run over me. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," I keep repeating.

I hear the door creak open a few minutes later, but I don't move the curtain to see who it is. A hand reaches in and turns the tap off. It's Ike's hand.

"I didn't mean to…" I whisper.

He pulls the curtain back. "I know," he says softly. "I told Mom, Dad and Stan that. It's hard to keep food down when you've spent so long eating so little."

I'd like to believe that, but I know it's not the reason. I don't eat a lot, especially as of late… but it hasn't gotten to that point. Maybe it was a psychosomatic response. Maybe I'm just here fucking myself. "I haven't thrown up in almost two years…" I murmur. "Why is this all coming back now?"

"Relapse is normal," Ike says, "the therapist can help you… if you let him." He grabs a towel from the cupboard and hands it to me. I stand up, wrapping myself in it and stepping out of the bath before sinking onto the floor.

"I'm not relapsing," I insist.

Ike doesn't respond to that. He just sits down beside me and says, "Stan blew up at Mom."

"I was there," I murmur.

"It upset you, didn't it? He showered her with expletives after you ran up here."

"Oh…" I sigh sadly, not liking the thought of my best friend and my mom fighting with one another.

Stan enters the room a moment later with a glass of water and joins us on the floor. "Here," he offers.

"I thought my mom told you to leave," I say, taking the cup and slowly sipping its contents.

He smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, she did… I cussed her off a bit… but I apologized just now, so…"

"Good," I tell him.

"It's probably best Mom realizes the mistakes she's made," Ike adds. "She… She can be a bit much sometimes. She lacks tact, even now."

"I'll fuckin' say," Stan says. He reaches forward and touches my wet hair.

"You're not supposed to throw the blame around," I tell them. "No matter how justified you feel it is… You'll only make it worse. I learned that from my first round of therapy when I was fifteen."

Stan frowns at this, but doesn't comment.

"I didn't mean to throw up," I add. "I didn't want to… I just felt so… Fuck, I don't know."

"It's okay, Kyle," he says. "I understand."

"Do you really?" I ask. "Or are you just saying that?"

"I believe you," he insists.

I close my eyes. "You should go home, Stan. I'm okay now."

He gives a few nods, relenting. He grabs my face and pecks the top of my head. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I force a wary smile. "Tomorrow."


	13. SM: Have a nice life

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Thank you guys for always leaving such nice reviews :)**

**Stan's POV**

* * *

It's Wednesday night. Five minutes ago my idiot of a father came home. Naturally, my parents are now arguing. Mom is angry he left when he should have stayed and he is angry, insisting that she's trying to control his life. How immature. I'll have to let my parents figure their own shit out and remember that none of this is my fault.

Shelly stomps past me and runs upstairs shouting, "I HATE THIS FAMILY!" I don't really blame her. Sometimes I hate us, too.

I decide to go visit Kenny because it's pissing me off being here. When I get there, I walk straight in and go up to his bedroom. I knock and hear his strained voice yell, "Who is it?"

"Stan," I say slowly.

"Oh," he says in the same, strained voice. "You can come in."

"Dude, are you fuckin' masturbating?" I ask, not quite sure if that's something I should be seeing. But I'll admit that part of me is curious.

Nothing, just a "hng" sound, as if that doesn't make the answer completely obvious. I cut my losses and swing the door open, slipping inside and shutting it again. It's dim but I can clearly see Kenny lying against a pillow on his bed. I can see his hand moving in his shorts. I sit near the end of his mattress with my back facing him and he laughs, asking, "Why so far away, Stan?" His tone is taunting.

"Yeah fucking right," I murmur.

"You can look if you want," he says carelessly. "I don't mind." I feel one of his feet dig into my back.

"You're a horny perv," I tell him. Nonetheless, I turn around and he smirks, leaning on his back and lifting his hips before shrugging out of his shorts. "Yeah, a serious fucking perv," I reiterate, staring at the lewd display.

"You're the one watching, stud," he teases. "Just enjoy the fucking show." He lifts his spread legs up high and I'm seeing a side of Kenny I'm sure only Bebe has gotten to see when she fucked him with her damn strap on. I feel myself blush as I watch. I'm just glad it's a bit dim; otherwise he'd call me out for having such a red face. I watch him for a few minutes, staring at his thighs and ass and it makes me feel weird as hell. When did things get so fucking gay? "What now?" he asks, breathing heavily. "If you want to fuck me, I'll let you."

I'm hard and just because of that, I'd like to say yes… but I won't. "No," I close my eyes, ignoring my erection. "This isn't right… This is really fucking wrong…"

"Who cares?" he pants. "Who fucking cares… You want to. I can tell you've wanted to for a while."

"You're upset about Craig," I say. "That's why you're doing this. We'd both regret it. A bit of kissing is one thing, but fucking is something else completely."

"Friends do this kind of shit all the time. Kissing, touching, sucking, fucking… It doesn't matter." He sits up a moment later and settles on my lap, pressing his lips to mine. I inch my mouth open and I feel his hand travelling down my abdomen. "You're hard," he says once we part.

Everything feels hazy and I'm wicked horny. Kenny takes one of my hands and places it on his cock. I curl my fingers around it, touching him the way I'd touch myself.

"Feels nice…" he mumbles, closing his fluttery eyelids.

"I'm not going to fuck you," I tell him. He's lonely. So am I, in a way, but that doesn't mean we should do something like this. "It'd fuck things up. I want Kyle… He'd hate it if he found out."

"Then why is your hand still on my dick?" he asks.

"I don't know," I mutter.

He opens his eyes and smiles at me. It's a strange sort of smile, one I haven't seen him wear before. He looks bitter. "It's okay, Stan." I let go of him and he moves away. He reaches for something in a nearby drawer and pulls out a dildo. "I'll just fuck myself." He puts it in his mouth, getting it wet.

"Won't that hurt?" I ask.

"I hope so," he says lightly, causing me to frown. "I'm too lazy to look for lube, so this'll do." He places the suction cupped end on the floor, sitting on it.

I watch with a strange and perverted kind of awe, wishing I could find it in me to look away because I know this isn't okay. He's upset. I can tell. He never acts like this. He's so level-headed. This doesn't suit him at all. "Kenny…?" I say his name.

"Be quiet, Stan," he murmurs, closing his eyes. Neither of us speaks again for a while. He continues jerking off and riding the plastic dick, letting out a string of quiet moans as he climaxes.

"Why're you acting like this?" I ask quietly, unable to speak any louder. I don't know why I'm even asking since I already know the answer. I guess I just want to break the silence. It's tense and uncomfortable. "You never act like this."

He licks the mess off his hand, slowly lifting himself and standing. "I'm frustrated," he admits, wiping his stomach off with a tissue and putting his shorts back on. He doesn't put the dildo away. He just lets it sit there.

"Sexually?" I ask, trying to will my boner away. I will never be able to explain how much self-control it took not to accept Kenny's offer, but I know it's for the best that I didn't.

"No, just frustrated," he answers simply.

"Want to tell me why?" I offer.

He flops back onto his bed and pats the spot beside him. I lie next to him and he says, "Craig… It's always Craig fuckin' Tucker lately."

"You like him a lot, hm?"

"Yeah, but he keeps fucking around," Kenny murmurs. "We fought the other day. I mean, we _really_ fought. There were punches thrown and blood, too… Then he kissed me. We didn't fuck again. We just kissed then he drew back and told me he wanted me to go away. I told him I would leave if he asked me to. I didn't think he was really going to, but he did. He hasn't been at school at all this week. It's driving me fucking mental. I know he's avoiding me… but I wish he wouldn't. For once, I don't know what to fucking do."

"Go see him," I suggest.

Kenny shakes his head. "I promised him I'd back off if he asked me to. I need to just… wait it out. Maybe if I just wait for him to come to me then I won't have to keep seeing the worst side of him."

"Oh…" I murmur. "Maybe."

"Love is always a risk," he tells me, smiling bitterly. "To love… is to be willing to open yourself up completely. It is to be willing to leave yourself vulnerable to the other person. It's scary and wonderful. Craig taught me it could be scary. I used to think it was just wonderful. I see now that it's not. There are two sides to it. I never understood that before."

"Oh," is all I say. I wish Kenny never decided to befriend Craig Tucker. He's slowly turning him into a pessimist. I don't like it one bit.

"I don't know. He's confusing as hell… It's like, just when I think it's okay he makes me see that it's not. It's a piss-off… I just want to feel like things are all right for a while instead of just a few minutes. It's like a constant, never ending bait and switch."

"Sounds tiring," I say.

"It is… I don't know what to do anymore."

"Maybe all you _can_ do is wait." I'm probably not making him feel any better, but I'm bad at this kind of shit. My relationships have been total failures and my love life isn't exactly blossoming.

He sighs. "Yeah, maybe. Things'll probably work out, huh? Things always work out…"

"Yeah. Be patient."

"Is that what you're doing?" he asks.

"Yeah, that's what I'm doing." Or rather, that's what I'm trying to do.

"Sorry for, like… you know," he trails off. "Being a horny slut."

I just smile. "It's fine, Kenny. We're friends…"

"Yes," he agrees.

"Just don't do anything stupid," I warn him. "Sure, you fuck around with friends but you aren't the type of person to fuck people who don't matter to you. If you do that, you'll just end up hating yourself like Craig. Plus, there's STDs."

"Don't worry. I'll be good," he promises.

* * *

We continue hanging out for a while longer, just talking about shit that doesn't matter – nothing heavy. I leave around 6PM and when I get home, my parents are sitting in the living room with Shelly, who looks upset and angry. Everything is quiet… too quiet. "What the fuck's this?" I ask tersely, though I already know what it is.

"Language, Stanley," Mom weakly warns.

"Fuck that," I snap. "Just tell me what the hell is going on. What is this?"

She lets out a soft sigh, sharing a look with my dad. "Your father and I think it would be best… if we separated."

"You're getting a divorce?" I ask.

"No," Dad cuts in. "No one said the word _divorce_. We just need some time apart."

"You fucking ran away!" I shout. "You ran away. You were gone for a while. Wasn't that enough fucking time? If you're gonna get a divorce, just do it now. More time isn't going to fix this. You guys messed it all up. You just fucking _fucked_ it!"

"Stanley Randall Marsh!" Mom shouts back. "Mind your language!"

Shelly has her eyes closed. "I hate this family…" she murmurs, rubbing her temples. "I really hate this family."

"Stanley," Mom starts again, "your father is moving out. You can either go with him, or stay with me and your sister in this house."

"I'm not choosing," I murmur.

"Sleep on it…" she says. "You don't have to decide now."

"Whatever." I go upstairs and into my room, locking the door so they can't come and talk to me. I don't want to hear about how sorry they are and I definitely don't want to hear about how hard this is for them. I don't care. I'm young and selfish. I just want us to be a normal family. It's all I've ever wanted… but we're not a normal family. My sister is a violent bitch and my parents have always fought. I wonder if they fight more than Kenny's parents do. Probably not. Or maybe it's just a different kind of fighting. I guess it's stupid of me to even bother comparing.

* * *

At school the next morning, Kyle looks on edge. "What's wrong?" I ask him as I sit next to him in homeroom.

"It's almost the weekend," he states.

"Amen to that," Cartman mutters and Kenny just looks miserable.

"Yeah, and…?" I urge Kyle to continue.

"That means it's almost the start of a new week."

Right, his therapy sessions. "Do you want me to come with you like I did last week?" I ask.

"No," he murmurs. "I should be able to do this on my own, right?"

I smile gently. "It's fine if you can't just yet."

He sighs. "The doctor spoke to my parents and said he wants to try family therapy eventually… Since apparently my OCD has affected everyone." His tone is bitter and cynical. "I guess that makes me pretty selfish, huh?"

"No," I say. "It's an anxiety disorder, right? You can't help it…"

"Shut up," he whispers.

I frown. "Kyle, I thought we were past this. You made progress in just one session. You spoke to the doctor… you told him things."

"Nothing important," Kyle insists. "I just told him stupid things, answering his stupid questions and letting him come up with a stupid deduction."

I close my eyes briefly. "Fine… Okay." I'm just glad Cartman has enough tact to keep his mouth shut right now.

Some days are better than others. Kyle has always been a bit moody. I hate it when he gets like this.

"You know," I say, "I used to think only girls got eating disorders. It's stupid, huh?" And maybe that's why I didn't understand the severity of what was happening to him when we were fifteen. I just… let it be. We aren't taught this stuff in school. We aren't taught certain things can happen to boys, too.

"I don't have an eating disorder," he whispers.

"But you did…" I say. "Relapse is normal…"

"I'm not relapsing!" he shouts, eliciting stares from other students. He flushes slightly and quietly repeats, "I'm not relapsing…"

"Fine," I murmur. It happens like this. He gets spiteful and everyone else gets scared. We tiptoe around him and around the issues. He refuses food and we're all forced to do what he wants us to because we're at a loss. Maybe that's how he gains control – not of himself, but of everyone else.

"Why don't you believe me?" he asks, voice wavering.

"You lie a lot, Kyle…" I say slowly. "You've always lied a lot."

"But I'm not lying now," he bites. "So fuck you, Stan."

The teacher enters and Kyle turns away from me, staring straight ahead. He doesn't speak again, he simply listens to the lecture and when the teacher passes around a work sheet, he still remains silent.

"Come on, Kyle…"

Silence.

"Kyle?"

Silence.

"Kyle…"

"Jesus fucking Christ," Cartman cuts in with hiss. "Just fucking answer him, Jew. I'm sick of you two whining at each other like a married couple."

"Mind your own business," I murmur.

"Bitch," he retorts.

"Hush," Kenny says. "If Kyle doesn't want to talk, we can't force him to."

True enough. I sigh, giving up. I stare down at my work sheet and begin to fill in the answers I know. Everyone is chattering amongst themselves, working together to finish the stupid fucking work sheet and Kyle still won't say a damn word.

"What did you guys get for A?" Cartman asks us.

"I didn't get that one," I admit. "I only got C, D, F, and H."

"Fuck," he mumbles. He turns back around and snatches Kyle's page right out from beneath his hands.

"Hey!" he snaps. "I'm not going to help you cheat, dumbass!"

"Don't be a bitch." Cartman hands his paper back a moment later and scribbles Kyle's answer down on his own sheet. "Kahl seems to have a little sand in his vagina. Stan, mind helping him get it out?"

"That's not funny," I mutter.

* * *

After school, my parents ask for my decision. "I'm not leaving," I tersely tell them. "I'm not choosing either of you. I'm just not leaving." I guess, in a way, that means I chose Mom, but I'm not going to say it like that.

"Okay, sweetie," she says.

"Bye, Dad." My tone is cold. "Have a nice fucking life."

"I'll still be around," he tries.

"No, you won't," I laugh. "Don't fucking joke. Do you remember the last time you and mom split up? You were gone all the time, out partying with young girls. You had me for all of five minutes and you dropped me off back at home because you had something better to do! And let's not forget about all your DUIs! I guess it doesn't matter that I was in the fuckin' car with you half the time as long as you didn't ruin your _buzz_."

He looks guilty and I can't feel sympathetic. Not yet. I know I will, though. I'll feel bad for yelling and it will make me feel even worse about the whole damn thing.


	14. KM: The truth

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**So, I've been thinking about something. For possible ideas for any of my future stories – what would you guys like to see me write about? Plots ideas/pairings/themes are welcome for future stories or for my WIPs (listed on my profile!). If you guys have any suggestions you can drop me a PM or leave a review. Thanks! **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

Stan has been moody, but I haven't gotten him alone so I haven't had the chance to ask him what's up. It probably has to do with his parents or Kyle. It's one of the two. He'll talk when he's ready.

I see Craig in the crowded hallway at school on Friday. He looks tired as ever dressed in pajama pants, a t-shirt and an oversized hoodie. He looks small. It's funny. When we were young, he was one of the tallest kids in class.

I offer him a smile and hold up my hand. He doesn't say anything, but he takes a few steps towards me. When we're standing in front of one another, be presses the palms of his hands flat to my chest and sinks into me. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close.

"Craig…?" I say his name, trying to ask if he's all right.

"Shut up," he murmurs. "Don't ruin the moment… Let's just _be_ for a minute, okay?"

"Okay," I say softly, burying my face in his hair. He smells like vanilla. There are kids staring at us, but I don't give a shit. When he pulls away, he takes my hand and we go to the boy's locker room. He unzips my parka and we proceed to claim a bench and make out.

"I want you…" I mumble.

"Please, _don't_," he says with blunt distaste, drawing away.

I shake my head. "I mean it. I fucking want you. Shit, maybe it's love. I can't help it."

He closes his eyes. "Stop… You're making this too complicated. You're ruining everything."

"You're views on love are too warped," I tell him. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You're a liar," he murmurs.

"Just because you've been avoiding me, it doesn't mean your feelings are going to disappear," I point out.

He leans his head against my shoulder. "Skip your morning classes today," he says. "We'll do something interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Yeah, interesting." He lifts his head and gives me a peck on the lips before standing. He takes off his sweater and lifts his shirt up over his head before stepping out of his shoes. He slips his fingers in the rim of his pajama pants before tugging them down.

"Craig?" I say his name yet again, dry mouthed and painfully aware of my growing erection.

"Sh," he commands.

"What if someone comes in?" I ask, glancing around. That would be a bit of a mood killer for me.

"Don't tell me you're _scared_?" he asks and there's something in his voice that's taunting me.

"I'm not," I insist.

"It's Friday," he states, stepping towards me again. "There are no gym classes in the morning, so it's not likely."

"Oh," I say.

He sits in my lap and reaches a hand into my sweatpants and pulling out my dick. He then arches forward, grinding his hips against mine in a steady, ongoing rhythm. He stares at me with eyes half lidded as his breathing quickens. I move forward and close the gap between our faces. We kiss sloppily, panting and moaning. He grabs my shoulders, steadying himself as we continue to rub up against each other, causing friction.

I wrap one hand around his back while I wrap the other around both of our cocks. I have him like this yet again. He came to me this time… and maybe that means something. I really want it to.

Craig rocks his hips upward, into my hand. "Fuck…" he breathes. "I'm close…"

"Me, too…" I work my hand faster as the familiar feeling explodes in my groin. Craig throws his head back and pants loudly. I wonder if I'll ever get used to seeing this side of him. It leaves me wanting more.

I let out a pleasured sigh. "Mm…" I've also gotta say I'm pretty satisfied at my aim. I didn't jizz on my clothes.

Craig lets go of me and moves away, staring down at the mess of rapidly cooling spooge sitting on his stomach. Without another word and without getting dressed, he walks around the corner. I zip up my parka, pick up his discarded clothing and follow him.

"I'm going to wash off," he says, entering a shower stall and turning on the tap.

"All right," I murmur. He doesn't seem to be upset today. I'm just hoping he won't suddenly start crying and then tell me to leave him alone. He's confusing. I don't know what he's thinking and I don't know what he wants. He doesn't know, either.

After Craig rinses himself off, he fetches a towel from his gym locker and dries off. "Here," I hand him his clothing and he gets dressed.

He offers me the smallest of smiles, taking my hand again as we leave the locker room. "We just humped each other," I state. "And a little while ago we had sex."

"Yes, we did…" Craig says. "Very astute observations. I never knew you were so smart."

I ignore the sarcasm and ask, "What does it mean?"

"Does it have to mean anything?"

"Well, I'd like it to…" I admit, "but I'll give you more time if it's what you need."

He simply nods his head.

I know he likes me, though. Why else would he hold my hand? "We haven't played the game in a while," I mention. "So, I'm going to ask you a question and remember – you need to answer it."

He closes his eyes, tightening his grip on my hand as we walk. "Just don't ask me anything important."

"Then what the fuck's the point?" I sigh, exasperated. "You're missing it completely, Craig. No matter who wins and who loses, you end the game with a fucking friend. Let yourself feel something good for a change."

After a pause he opens his eyes. "Maybe I don't want a friend," he says.

"Then what do you want?" I ask.

"I don't know what I want. I already told you that."

"Why don't you try and figure it out?"

"Because that takes too much effort," he says.

I drag him into a nearby empty classroom and shut the door.

"Why are we in here?" he asks, looking unimpressed.

"Tell me how you saw your mom die," I request, knowing it's probably his most important memory. It's the memory that shaped him the most and influenced him to become who he is today. I just want to understand. Maybe this will help me do so.

"You're an asshole, McCormick," he whispers.

"Yeah? So are you" I retort.

He sighs angrily, letting go of my hand and crossing his arms. "I was twelve," he starts tersely, turning around so he won't have to face me. He stares out the classroom windows, down at the falling snow. "It was the night before Christmas Eve. Dad was asleep… So was Ruby. I heard footsteps outside my door. Before that, I never had trouble sleeping but I was a light sleeper. So, I got out of bed and quietly followed my mom downstairs. She pulled a gun out of a cabinet they kept locked. I never knew why they kept it locked, but I knew then. It was where my parents kept the guns. With it, she walked onto the balcony out back. I was frozen. I didn't know what to do. She was only wearing a nightdress. Her feet were bare and she was walking on the snow. I knew she must've been cold. Slowly, I made my way to the open door. I just stood there, staring at her. Snow was getting in the house. I felt it in my feet. It was cold and the wind was blowing straight through my clothes. I was scared. The whole thing was eerie and my voice got caught in my throat. Just as I tried to call to her, she raised the gun and shot herself in the temple. Just like that – blood everywhere. I watched it happen… I watched her die." His voice is far away, as if he's mentally trying to distance himself from the things he's talking about. "So, I screamed. My dad and Ruby woke up, but he made her stay upstairs. I guess he had a bad feeling. So, he came downstairs and called 911 when he saw it… You know, sometimes I feel like he might blame me for not acting quicker. Maybe that's why he won't look at me."

I take a step towards him. I put a hand on his shoulder and force him to look at me. His eyes are closed and his cheeks are dry, but his face is flushed and his nose is red. I can tell he wants to cry. "I'm really fucking sorry," I say sincerely. I guess I understand why he hates Christmas now.

His lips part and he inhales deeply before exhaling. He nods and when he opens his eyes, they're glassy, but still, he doesn't cry. "Let's go," he says.

"You can ask me a question," I tell him. "You can make it painful."

"I can't think of anything," he murmurs.

"Okay, that's fine."

We leave the room and Craig gets his jacket from his locker. Once he puts it on we leave the school through the back exit, sitting on the cement stairwell.

"What's wrong with Kyle Broflovski lately?" Craig pries suddenly. "He's all emotional and shit…"

"He's got pretty intense OCD," I say. "Plus he was hospitalized a couple years back and everyone is worried that a relapse is in the near future."

"He was anorexic…" Craig states as if recalling a distant memory. "Are you worried, too?"

I shake my head. "Kyle is tough. He's smart. He's learned from his mistakes. He's not going to hurt himself like that again."

"Hm," Craig muses thoughtfully, but says nothing more and we fall into another silence. We watch it fall and eventually the bell rings, signalling lunch break. We go back inside and part ways without another word.

It's progression – yeah, it's slow, but it's progression nonetheless.

Knowing Craig Tucker is like trying to breathe under water – it's fucking impossible. Knowing Craig Tucker is like trying to swim when you don't know how – it hurts and there's a fear of drowning. I never got that before. I used to think love was always something effortless. Now I see that it's anything but.

* * *

After lunch, I have my philosophy elective with Bebe and Kyle. I don't know why Kyle insists on taking philosophy classes. Debating his existence freaks him out on a big scale, but he is still as engaged as ever, answering all the teacher's questions. Sometimes it's fun hearing about all these little theories and then being able to know for myself whether they're true or not. I'm special. I know more than I should.

After class, I ask Bebe to talk. She accepts and we walk home together. "So, what's on your mind?" she asks, giving me an encouraging smile.

I let out a sigh before laughing somewhat bitterly. "I'm into someone," I reveal. She nods, urging me to continue. She's still smiling that same smile, so I guess she isn't too surprised. "I want to pursue him… I know I'm just going to end up fucking myself in the end, but I still want to try," I tell her.

"Okay," she says. "It's Craig, huh?"

"Yeah," I snort. "It's that obvious, huh?"

"A little," she laughs. "I've never really seen you take an interest in someone as much as you've taken an interest in him. I knew for a while. I was just waiting until you were ready to tell me."

"Oh," I say softly. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Bebe can read me like a book. I can do the same to her. That's part of what makes us so special.

"You taught me a lot," Bebe says, "but I think Craig needs you now. I'm okay with that."

"I fucking love you," I tell her sincerely. "I mean that, you know."

"I know," she grins. "I love you, too." My relationship with Bebe was like a fucking fairy tale. I can tell whatever is happening with Craig will be much different. "If anyone can help him out, it's you," she continues. "But be careful. I was talking to Clyde and he said Craig hurts people who care about him so they'll go away."

"I know," I murmur, frowning. "He's tried."

"He acts like he's a horrible person… but I don't think he truly is. I don't think he is really as mean as he likes to pretend he is."

"Me neither," I agree. "It must get tiring…"

"Yeah," she sighs.

"Well," I deadpan, tossing an arm around her, "it's okay. I'll try not to get my hopes up because I know he's stubborn. He's just too scared to think about other people."

"I hope it all works out perfectly," she says, putting an arm around my waist.

"Me, too…"

"Hey, Kenny?" she glances over at me.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember a while back when you were hung over and I was talking to you about important things… Like the first time I saw you, and when you asked me out… and things like that?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say fondly.

"I guess we should talk about that now, huh?"

I take off my hood as we reach her driveway. "If you're ready," I tell her, offering a smile.

"I wanted you to know how important you are to me," she says, "and even though the relationship we have now is starting to disintegrate, you'll always be one of the most important people in my life."

"Likewise," I agree. We were perfect. It lasted for two years, but everything comes to an end. It's okay. Besides, it's not like I'm losing her.

"But… I've been spending a lot of time with Clyde lately," she continues. I've noticed that. I know what is going to happen and for some reason, it feels all okay. "Do you want to come over for a bit?" she offers.

"Yeah, sure," I accept. But this time we don't have sex or fool around. Now that everything is out in the open, it wouldn't feel right.

"So, you and Clyde?" I say knowingly.

She smiles. "It appears that way… Hey, if you and Craig do end up together, we'll all be able to go on double dates."

"I bet that would absolutely thrill Craig," I chuckle.


	15. SM: Kyle's photo album

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Thanks for suggestions/reviews :) **

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**Stan's POV**

* * *

I just got to Kyle's house. Sheila tells me she found Kyle passed out in the shower this morning and Kyle gets mad at her for telling me. When we walk upstairs, I find his bedroom door missing. He takes in my reaction with a sigh. "My punishment... My parents got rid of my bedroom door and they put a new handle on the bathroom," he tartly explains. "One that doesn't lock, though it doesn't make a damn difference because they're always picking the locks. They're taking ridiculous precautions."

"What about privacy…?" I ask.

"Apparently I don't get to have any privacy. Apparently it's a privilege, not a right in this fucking house."

"Jeez," I murmur. "How're you going to… y'know… masturbate?" I wonder what _that_ would sound like… Jesus Christ, I need to stop being perverse. Now is _not_ the time.

"I don't know how I'm going to do _anything_," he mutters. "This is fucking bullshit."

"I know," I sympathize.

"It makes me want to do something just to spite their efforts," he continues.

"Wouldn't that be counterproductive?" I ask.

"What they're doing is counterproductive… I have no control and now they're taking away my privacy, too. Thus taking away even _more_ control. I have _no_ fucking control!" he shouts, throwing his hands up in anger.

"Sorry," I say, unsure of what else I can tell him.

"They've never cared about my privacy," he bites.

"Sorry," I say again.

"They hid all the scales," he adds. "Even the one in their bathroom is gone."

"Were you looking for them?"

"I was curious…" he says. "I just don't want to gain any weight. I just… want to maintain."

"You look fucking _good_, Kyle," I tell him.

"No, I don't," he scoffs. "I'm fucking awful. I'm a fat, ugly, virginal fire crotch."

"That's Cartman speaking and he only does it to get a rise out of you. He doesn't mean any of it. Girls like you," I say.

"No, they don't," he snaps. "They pity me. There's a difference."

I roll my eyes. "You're _not_ ugly."

"Yes, I fucking am and –"

"I love you," I cut him off before he can continue insulting himself.

He rubs his temples at the familiar declaration. "I know that, Stan. You tell me all the time."

"I really want to kiss you right now," I admit quietly.

Kyle pauses and looks surprise at that. "Wait, what?"

"I want to kiss you," I say again.

"Why?" he whispers.

"Because I'm into you."

Again, he asks, "Why…?" His tone is disdainful this time, as if he doesn't understand why I would want to be with him.

I think back to what Kenny said about me having to be able to answer this question. "Because you're the most important person in the world to me," I tell him, "and I think you're fuckin' beautiful."

His cheeks turn pink. "Really…" he murmurs quietly.

"Yeah, really."

He's quiet for a moment and I feel my heart beating rapidly. "Then why did you kiss Kenny so much?" he finally asks.

"Hormones got the best of me, I suppose," I admit. "I didn't think I'd be able to get out the words and tell you how I feel."

"But you want me more?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, reaching a hand and lightly touching his face. My fingers ghost across his cheeks before tangling in his curly, red hair. "So, can I kiss you?"

He nods, staring at me with a sort of awe. I lean forward and part my lips slightly, touching my mouth to his. I wrap a hand around his back and pull him closer, leaning backwards so he's on top of me. He moans into my mouth and as things get heated, a voice interrupts with an, "Ahem…"

We break apart fast and turn to see Ike standing in the doorway with crossed arms. He doesn't look fazed as he says, "If you guys are going to do that stuff, you should probably wait until Mom and Dad go out and give me a warning so I can steer clear, yeah?" Then he walks off.

Kyle looks down at me and we both share a look before cracking up. "Ah," he sighs, collapsing on top of me. "This is why I need a damn lock… I'm almost eighteen for fuck's sake."

"Yeah," I agree. But I don't mind. It's not like we'll be fucking anytime soon. Kyle has things to deal with first.

He rolls off of me so we're lying side by side. "What are we, then?" he asks.

"I don't know…" I say. "I mean… What do you want? Do you feel the same way?"

"I think so… I think I've always felt something." I knew he was less than straight. I guess he just wasn't ready to admit it.

"Do you want a relationship? Are you ready for one?"

"I think so," he murmurs again. "I don't know…"

"Boyfriends, then? We can try… We don't have to tell people until you're ready. We can take things slow."

"Boyfriends," he repeats.

"Yes. Kyle, do you wanna be my boyfriend?"

He laughs softly. "Yeah, okay, sure… This is really fucking weird, huh?"

"Yeah, a bit," I agree. I thought it would be a little less unceremonious, but oh well. I'm not complaining.

"Stan and Kyle," he says, probably trying to see how it feels on his tongue. "When did you start to see me like that?"

"Shortly after Cartman rearranged your shelf," I tell him. "I don't know… but it's like, without Wendy as my girlfriend I began to notice different things."

"Oh," he says softly.

I reach for his hand, holding it in mine. "Don't worry about your weight," I whisper, turning to my side so I can face him.

"I can't help it, Stan," he admits, doing the same.

"Why are you worrying about it again so suddenly?" I ask him.

"It's difficult to talk about… It's always on my mind. Even when I was _better_, it was still on my mind. I just ignored the voice that told me not to eat. It… It's just been getting harder to tell it to stop," his tone wavers. "I just keep thinking how much easier it would be to just listen and I wouldn't constantly have to fight myself."

I nod, letting him know I'm hearing him. "Sometimes it helps to talk about things and to think about things," I say softly. "A lot of times, distraction can be useful… but it only helps for so long. You can't distract yourself forever. Don't distract yourself in an attempt to stop acknowledging you have a problem. Find something healthy to do to calm yourself. Try talking to people about it. Hell, try talking to yourself aloud if it helps. Give yourself reminders."

"Reminders?" he asks.

"Yeah, like… when you get the urge to wash your hands just tell yourself you don't need to wash your hands."

He smiles slightly. "It's so much more complicated than that, Stan. It's not that simple and I'm not that strong in mind."

"You're not weak in mind, either."

He sits and reaches under his bed, pulling out a box. He grabs a coiled book and brings it up on the bed.

"What's this?" I ask, forcing myself up.

"A photo album," he says, opening it. "They're mostly my photos."

I glance down at the pages as he flips them. There are photos of me, Kyle, Kenny, Cartman and even a few of Wendy, Bebe, Clyde and Tweek. We're young. We're happy. As Kyle continues to flip through the pages, the photos become more and more recent. He stops near the end of the book.

"We're fifteen years old here," he says, pointing to a photograph of me and him. "I weighed seventy-nine pounds. This was three months after I turned fifteen and about another three months before someone noticed I was sick." _Sick_… at least he's saying the word now.

I stare down at the photo – at the evidence. I glance up at Kyle – the pretty guy sitting here with me, and then I stare back down at the photo of the sickly child. He looked terrible and seeing it now, I can't believe I never noticed he was sick before the doctors told me. The boy in the photo looks dead. He looks like a walking corpse. He's bony and visibly emaciated. His hair is dull, his cheek bones are prominent and his eyes are sunken. He looks unhappy. It's just me smiling in the photo. I look stupidly oblivious to Kyle's pain.

"God…" I murmur.

"You know, I didn't puke often," he says quietly. "I starved myself until I was faced with something I couldn't handle. I'd have safe foods I would eat. I wanted to eat, but I didn't want what came with eating so if I gave in, I'd throw it up and get angry at my apparent loss of control. Eating was always such a relief. My body wanted it so fucking badly. I was in so much fucking pain… I fucking ruined myself… Irregular heartbeat, muscle loss, bone density loss, anemia... My mind hurt and my body hurt just as bad."

"Oh," I say quietly.

I can recall the day we found out with such vivid fucking clarity. Kyle asked me to carry his books for him to and from classes. He often did and I didn't mind. I never even bothered asking him why. Deep down, maybe I knew… Maybe I just wanted to keep pretending he was okay. Naturally, Cartman always laughed at us for it. He called us homos but we just brushed him off. After school, I gave Kyle his books. They weighed him down. With difficulty, he put his things away and when we were walking home, he fell. I thought he might have slipped on an ice patch, but he didn't. He fainted. I was scared. I was so fucking scared because I didn't know what was happening and he wouldn't wake up. I never called 911 before. That was the first time. I didn't know what else to do. I rode in the ambulance with him and the paramedics asked me what happened. I told them he fell and then they told me what was going on. When I heard the word "anorexia" being thrown around I just shook my head. I thought there was no way Kyle was _anorexic_. He was just a little thin… he was just a little frail. But then I began thinking about it because in the waiting room it was all I really could do. I realized that I hadn't seen him eat in a long time. He was just skin stretched over bones.

Kyle ended up breaking his arm because his bones were so fragile. He was in a hospital room hooked up to a feeding tube. I just stared at him. He looked so small, like he could slip beneath my fingers if I were to touch him. I hated myself for being so naïve. When Kyle's family got to the hospital there was a lot of shouting. Sheila and Gerald weren't yelling at Kyle, though. They were just yelling at each other. Kyle was still unconscious. When he woke up, Sheila called Kenny and Cartman over and then held an intervention. I started crying hard when it was my turn to talk. For once, Cartman didn't laugh at me for it. Kyle was institutionalized for a month and when he left the hospital, everyone pretended nothing happened. He returned to school, caught up in his classes and everyone just smiled.

For a while, everything seemed okay and then one day Kyle and Cartman got into a fight. Kyle called him fat, and Cartman decided to return the insult. "I'm not the fat one, you are," he said. I'm not even sure he knew what he was saying. The words flew out of his mouth so damn fast and Kyle just responded with, "Oh." Cartman's eyes were wide, as if he had some sort of realization. He knew right away how badly he fucked up. Kyle was still underweight, but he did gain a lot back. He was still trying to get better. He was still only fifteen. He was too young to be going through so much.

Kyle went home, threw up the contents of his stomach and then refused supper. Sheila called me over that night, desperate and unsure what to do. I went to Kyle's room and I gently coaxed him into eating a cup of yogurt, silently promising to murder Cartman the following day. Kyle avoids the insult "fat" now because of that. Me and Kenny avoid it, too. Now we just call Cartman Tits or other dumb names.

I close my eyes, forcing myself not to think about those days. It won't happen again. Kyle _won't_ get that sick again.

"It's really fucking disgusting and ugly, isn't it?" Kyle asks weakly, still staring at the photo.

"No, don't say that," I whisper.

He scoffs. "I looked worse than ever. Sometimes I look at the pictures of myself at this age and I remind myself I don't want to be there again. I've been looking at them a lot lately." He turns the page and there are more photos of him looking like a walking corpse. "It's ironic. What I wanted was control… but I completely lost it. It doesn't fucking matter what I do, I don't have control. I didn't have it when I was starving myself and I don't have it now, either. I wanted everything to be perfect. _I_ wanted to be perfect… It's not fixed just because I weigh a hundred and fifteen pounds. Sometimes damage isn't reversible. Since I was so young, it stunted my growth and ruined me in other ways, too. Now I'll always be... small."

"That isn't a bad thing," I say. I'm about 6' tall, Cartman is 5'10 and Kenny is 5'8. I guess we're all pretty tall. We tower over Kyle.

"I really fucked myself up. I wrecked myself. I hated myself," he murmurs.

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Do you still?"

"I don't know," he admits. "Sometimes."

"How do you feel?" I ask gently.

"Okay," he says.

"See? Talking helps."

"Do you believe me now when I say I'm not going to get sick again?" he asks.

"Yeah," I tell him. "I believe you."

I just hope I'm not making a mistake.


	16. KM: Bowling

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Thank you guys for reviewing! **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

Things have been slow. There hasn't been much progress with the Craig situation, but I'm being patient. Stan and Kyle got together. That didn't stay a secret from me for long. I noticed the less than stealthy lovey looks they were shooting each other during English class. I've noticed it all week. I thought I'd give them a chance to tell me, but maybe they're trying to keep it quiet for now.

"So…" I sing, grinning at Stan. He grins back and confirms what I already knew. Stan must have confessed.

"Just don't tell Jabba the Hutt," he says with a snort.

"I won't." I make a motion like I'm zipping my lips shut. I don't honestly think Eric would mess around with Kyle about it, though. He's psychotic, sure, but he _is_ Kyle's friend. Somewhere deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, very deep down, he does care. Since Kyle is unwell, he'll leave it until he's okay enough for offensive jokes.

Stan and Kyle are going to have a lot to work through. I can't see Kyle spreading his legs anytime soon. He's not comfortable in his own skin. He's the kind of guy who changes into his gym clothes in the corner, facing the wall and don't even get me started about the communal showers. But he's in therapy now. Stan told me it was cognitive behavioural something or other… Not really sure what that means, but hopefully it will help him. Hopefully Stan will be able to stay strong through whatever is in store for them because the last thing Kyle needs is for Stan to abandon him. I don't think that would ever happen, though. He's selfless when it comes to Kyle.

After class, Clyde stops me in the hallway. "Hey, Kenny, I have a question."

"What's up?" I ask him, though I know what he wants.

"You're all right with me dating her, right?" he asks.

I don't bother asking who he's referring to because it's too obvious. "I don't mind," I tell him with a smile. "You guys make a good couple."

He returns the smile with one of his own. "You won't lose her," he says. "You're soul mates, right?"

"Right," I grin. "Always."

He nods, chuckling softly before sobering. "Gay as it sounds, Craig is probably mine… I can't live with him yet I can't live without him. We've been best friends for too long and I can't just walk away. He's high maintenance, but I'd never leave him."

"That's nice, though," I say. "He's lucky to have someone like you." It's no secret that Clyde puts up with a hell of a lot of shit from Craig.

"You're into him, huh?" he murmurs.

"How'd you know?" I ask. Jeez. Does everyone know?

He shrugs. "I might be dumb when it comes to most things, but I know Craig. He's my best friend. I love the hell out of him… and I know him well enough to know when something is wrong. He hates when I mention your name. He's never been like that about anyone before – just his mom. That's when it kind of clicked. He is falling for you. He's falling for you and its scares the shit out of him. Because of that, he'll try damn hard to hurt you."

"He's already tried," I admit, "but I've hurt him, too… I've hurt him just by _wanting_ him."

Clyde nods sympathetically. "Welcome to the world of Craig Tucker… Just when you think things are okay, he makes a U-turn and he fucks you up. So be careful. I mean it, man. Be fucking careful."

I smile bitterly. What fun I'm in for…

"I saw you holding him in the hallway the other day," he continues. "It looked like you were doing more than just holding him. You were holding him together… trying to soak up the bad and glue back all the broken pieces. You love him, don't you?"

"I guess I do," I admit before lightly asking, "So, do I have your blessing?"

"Yeah," Clyde chuckles. "Be careful with him. He's not that strong in mind. If he loves you, he'll spite you for it… He'll hurt you but please don't hurt him back. He can't help being like that. It's not his fault… so be patient."

"I know," I say. "He told me about his mom."

"He did?" Clyde looks surprised.

I nod. "He told me she was depressed and she killed herself. He saw her shoot herself in the head." It paints a pretty vivid picture in my mind. Blood red, snow white... Eugh.

Clyde nods sadly. "Before he finally told me, I never would've imagined him witnessing it. It took forever for him to tell me that story. It didn't take you that long, huh? Maybe you have a chance in softening him up after all."

"I was kind of pushy," I admit. "I know it's an important memory. It caused him to become who he is now. I just wanted to understand it better."

"Yeah," he says quietly.

"I get it now," I murmur. "He thinks if he gets close, I'll just end up leaving… or dying."

Clyde smiles sympathetically. "Yeah, sometimes we can't control these things. That's why he won't trust you if you say you won't leave him. Death happens when you least expect it… and even when you know it's coming, it's still unexpected. You could be dying of cancer and it'd still be a total shock to everyone around you when you finally kick the bucket."

"Yeah… what a sin," I say.

"By the way, me and Bebe are doing stuff this weekend," Clyde says. "I'll try and convince Craig to come and the four of us can double and go bowling or see a movie or something."

"Okay," I chuckle. "Sounds good."

"I'll work on him." Clyde grins, holding up a hand and waving before continuing to his next class.

* * *

When the weekend comes, Bebe calls me and tells me to meet at the bowling alley. "_Clyde is bringing Craig_," she happily informs me through the phone.

"Oh, wow. He actually convinced him to come?" I ask, thoroughly surprised.

"_He sure did_!" she exclaims. "_So, hurry down. We're meeting up in half an hour_!" She hangs up after that and I decide I should probably get dressed.

I put on khaki pants and a v-neck. I'll look good today, rather than my typical sloppy self. I grab my parka, naturally, and then start walking. I leave early since it'll probably take me about twenty minutes to get there. I have no car or license. Fortunately, most things in South Park are close by.

When I arrive, I spot Bebe right away. "We're the first ones here," she says.

"I've never been bowling before," I admit.

Her jaw drops. "No way! It's super fun."

"I'm a little worried," I say. "I haven't seen Craig all week. Last time I saw him was at school. We hung out a bit but it ultimately ended awkwardly…"

"It'll be fine," she insists. "We won't let him make things awkward."

"Okay," I chuckle. I believe her. Bebe has a way of easing most uncomfortable situations.

A moment later, she points to the door. Clyde saunters inside in his letterman jacket, all smiley. Behind him is Craig, who looks less than pleased. "Smile, Craig," Clyde tells him as they near us.

"Don't," he murmurs. "I'll hit you."

"Someone's sour," Bebe coos at him. Craig gives her a dull stare, but she isn't fazed. "Let's get our shoes and start playing," she says.

The shoes look really stupid, but Bebe strikes a pose and insists that it's just part of the whole experience. We walk to the last lane and Craig flops into a chair. I remove my parka and set it down on the seat next to him.

"Who's keeping score?" Clyde asks.

"I will," Bebe volunteers. She's probably the only one capable of it. Craig doesn't care, Clyde sucks at math and I don't even know the rules. "Clyde's on my team," she adds. "Craig and Kenny, you guys are team two."

"Cool," I say. I shoot him a look. He offers me a small and somewhat forced smile. "You okay?" I mouth. He simply nods and we both stare ahead, watching Bebe.

All the pins get knocked down and I'm pretty impressed. "Strike!" She jumps around happily, marking down the points on the sheet of paper.

"Good job," I tell her.

"Thanks," she smiles. "Your turn, Craig."

He stands up and takes the bowling ball, bringing his arm back before swinging it forward and letting go of the ball. He turns around without waiting to see how he did.

"Well, shit," I deadpan.

"Eight pins," Bebe says. "Very nice."

Clyde goes next and only knocks down four pins. He laughs it off. I'm sure I'm not going to do much better.

"You can do it, Kenny!" Clyde and Bebe say encouragingly.

I just smile. "You're not supposed to root for the other team." My first ball goes straight into the gutter and they let me try again out of humoured pity. This time I get two pins. "Jeez," I deadpan. "I fucking suck."

"Bowling is hard," Clyde agrees.

* * *

Naturally Bebe and Clyde win, but me and Craig were close behind. Well, Craig and Bebe were pretty much the only ones knocking pins down. Clyde sucked and I was about ten times worse, but it was fun. Craig loosened up a bit as the game went on. I don't think he realized it, though. If he did, he probably would have tried acting like more of an asshole.

Afterward, we decide to pick up Chinese takeout from City Wok and go to Clyde's house. Fortunately, he has a car and I don't need to do any more trekking around town in the cold.

Craig covers his mouth with a hand and yawns as we settle in the basement.

"Tired?" I ask, taking my parka off.

"As always," he says with a frown.

Clyde puts on a movie called _Brick_, insisting, "You're gonna love this."

"What's it about?" Bebe asks, opening her takeout box.

"It's a modern day film noir about a _brick_ of heroin," Craig supplies in a dull tone.

"Is it good?" I ask and Craig simply nods. "Oh," I say. "You guys watch a lot of movies, huh?"

"Yeah," Clyde laughs. "We both have pretty different taste, but we agree this is a good one." He presses play a moment later and the film starts.

I put my arm around Craig and Clyde gives me a thumbs up. I roll my eyes in good humour and watch the movie.

* * *

When the movie is over, Bebe and Clyde announce that they're going to make smoothies. I think they're just looking for an excuse to leave me and Craig alone. Perhaps the air was tense enough for them to notice.

"So, you and Bebe finally broke up," he states once they're gone.

"Yeah," I tell him. "It was bound to happen."

Craig simply nods.

"You're into me, right?" I ask.

He doesn't answer. He just stares straight ahead at the wall.

"Fucking answer me…" I murmur.

"No."

"I just wanna fuckin' _be_ with you," I yell, exasperated. "And I know you want the same, so stop running away!"

He closes his eyes and sighs. "I don't want to put a label on whatever this is," he says.

"People _need_ to use labels!" I exclaim. "Otherwise how will we know what the hell is going on in the world?"

He presses his lips together, looking mildly irritated. I take a step forward and stare straight into his eyes. He looks away. "Don't do that," he murmurs.

I grab his face in my palms and force him to look at me.

"Fucking don't!" he snaps, placing his hands over mine and trying to pry them away. "Fucking don't…" he whispers this time, closing his eyes.

"You can't avoid being close to people, Craig. It just won't work."

He lets out a sigh and lets his hands slip away from mine. He opens his glassy eyes and presses his lips to mine, sobbing into my mouth. I tangle my hands in his hair as we kiss and once we break apart, he says, "Fuck you… Fuck you for making me feel like this."

I just smile. "Don't think about it," I say. "Just feel it."

"It's not as easy as you make it seem," he whispers.

"Smoothies are done, guys!" we hear Bebe call a moment later from the top of the stairs.

"Let's go," I say to Craig and the two of us walk upstairs. Clyde and Bebe greet us with smiles and they're probably just pretending they don't notice Craig's red-rimmed eyes.

"We heard some yelling," she whispers to me as Clyde sets the table. "Is everything okay?"

"I think it is now," I tell her.

I think it is…


	17. KB: Bad dreams

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Thank you guys, as always! :) I'm really glad you're enjoying.**

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

_I'm rolled onto my side and I feel a body pressed up against mine. He pushes in with little warning and I have to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from yelling out. I suppress a strangled moan. "My God, you're so warm," he says as he eases his way into me. He puts a hand on my hip to keep me from shaking as he starts moving and thrusting._

_It hurts. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying hard not to tense up. It hurts more that way, right? He pulls out halfway then drives back in, repeating the movements. My muscles are aching and begging for a quick finish but I know that asking for it would be a futile effort. It's taking everything I have to keep my body from spasming reflexively. __I can't help but shout._

"_God, shut up!" he hisses angrily, roughly grabbing a fistful of my hair. I continue to moan and mumble nonsense words as my body rocks back and forth with his movements. __"You're a slut, Kyle," the voice says softly, almost fondly. "You're disgusting, Kyle. Disgusting!" He is shouting now. _

"_I know," I say. I don't know what makes me agree. I close my eyes to try and keep from yelling. My body feels like it's being lit on fire, every inch of me burning. I'm not sure whether it's from pain or complete and utter humiliation. _

"_Everyone would laugh if they saw you like this," he continues, chuckling. _

"_I know," I repeat. I'm flipped onto my back and I see the figure who is grunting and moaning above me. It's Stan. _

* * *

When I wake up, I'm shaking. How unsettling…

"That wasn't real," I remind myself aloud… but it _could_ be. Maybe that's what will happen when the inevitability arrives. I can't put off sex forever, can I? I don't want to be a disappointment… Me and Stan haven't even kissed since we decided to start seeing each other. I know he said we'd take it slow, but I'm worried he'll grow impatient. I let out a breath and shake it off for the time being.

It's Sunday now and when I leave my room, I watch the water cascade over my hands for a while. When I finally go downstairs, my mom is in the kitchen baking.

"What's that?" I ask her.

"Coconut macaroons," she says with a smile.

"Oh," I say.

She frowns, probably sensing that something is wrong. "What is it, Bubby?"

"Bad dream," I tell her vaguely.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she offers.

I shake my head. "Where's Ike?" Maybe I'll tell him about it. It might be easier since he's very medical and he already knows about me and Stan.

"He's not here," she says. "He's at Filmore's. He'll be back by supper."

"Oh," I say weakly. I _need_ someone to talk to and I don't want it to be my mom. Usually I would call Stan, but he's the problem.

"What is it, Kyle?" she asks. "You're worrying me." A second later, the oven buzzer goes off. She puts on her oven mitts and takes out a pan of desserts.

"I just want to talk to Ike," I say.

"You can't talk to _me_?"

"No," I flat out tell her.

"Oh… Why don't you call Stan instead?" she suggests.

I shake my head. "I don't want to talk to him."

"Why not? He's your best friend." Well, he's definitely more than just that now. She takes the cookies out of the pan and places them on a rack to cool down.

"I know he is," I say, "but I don't want to talk to him." I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, overcome with nausea. I feel my mother put her hand on my shoulder. I feel like I'm having a mild panic attack, but I've never had a panic attack before. Stan used to get them when we were littler. He has asthma, too. He says he's learned how to calm himself down during a fit, though, so it isn't a problem anymore. How enviable. I wish I knew how to calm myself down.

"Bubby, you're worrying me…"

I open my eyes and look at her. "I'm sorry…"

She shakes her head dismissively. "Here," she says, "Have a cookie."

I take three and sit down at the table to eat them, ignoring the voice telling me I should be avoiding these kinds of foods – fattening foods. Foods that won't solve any of my problems. Foods that will just end up causing me more problems.

"Sharon called the other day," Ma mentions. "She and Randy are separating."

"Stan didn't tell me…" I murmur between mouthfuls. "Why wouldn't he tell me that?"

"Poor boy," Mom says. "Perhaps he felt like you had enough on your plate."

I frown at that. When I finish eating, we chat for a little longer until I decide to go upstairs. I feel the knots in my stomach growing tighter. It's filled with guilt and shame and anger. It's not just because I cracked. It's too many things. I can't quite put it into words.

"Kyle…?" my mom calls as I leave the room.

"What?" I ask from the stairwell.

"Come back down here," her voice wavers knowingly. She stands in the kitchen doorway and stares at me pleadingly.

"No," I say.

"Why not? Where are you going?"

"I need to piss," I tell her crudely. She looks incredibly sad and I know she knows I'm lying. She doesn't even bother telling me to mind my language.

I go upstairs and enter the bathroom. I lock the door and sink onto the floor in front of the toilet, sticking my fingers down my throat to excite my gag reflex. I feel my nails scrape across the back of my throat. I gasp, I dry heave and I feel the contents of my stomach shift but I don't puke. I hover over the toilet, poking and digging my fingers further town my throat. I choke and convulse until I finally vomit all over my hand. Relief. I stick my slimy fingers down my throat and do it once more. Relief.

I'll use a toothbrush next time.

Wait… next time?

I hear my mom start to cry on the other side of the door. She followed me. I ignore her and stare into the toilet bowl at the mess of undigested food. It looks disgusting and smells even worse. "No… why did I do that…?" I whisper to myself. "I'm better…"

I shudder, spitting and trying to rid my mouth of the slimy residue. I flush the toilet and force myself to me feet, trying to get rid of the awful smell. I wash my hands and rinse my mouth out before opening the door.

My mom hugs me tightly, sobbing and apologizing. "Oh, my poor baby…"

I let out a keening sound before sobbing with her.

* * *

When Ike gets home, he enters my room. "Mom said you wanted to talk to me," he says. She probably told him what happened because his tone is cautious.

I place the book I'm reading on my nightstand and tell him, "I did. I don't anymore."

"Come on, Kyle…" he urges. He steps forward, sitting down on my bed next to me.

"It's too many things," I admit.

"Yeah?" he pries.

"I had a dream," I tell him. "I just don't want it to come true…"

"What happened in it?" he asks.

"Stan… He _hurt_ me. He told me I was disgusting. I fucking felt it… even now, I feel it…"

Stomach? Fat.

Hips? Fat.

Legs? Fat.

Arms? Fat.

Nose? Too big.

Eyes? Too far apart.

Skin? Too pasty.

Hair? Too messy.

I'm too much of everything. It really is disgusting.

"Stan didn't really say that, Kyle," Ike gently says. "It was just a dream. Stan would never say that. He loves you, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," I say weakly. "He loves me…"

Ike offers an encouraging smile.

"His parents are splitting," I murmur. "He didn't tell me… he didn't _feel_ like he could tell me."

"You have a lot going on…" Ike tries to reason.

I scoff. "I'm selfish, right?"

"Let's go downstairs," he says, changing the subject. "Supper is almost ready."

"I'm not hungry," I murmur.

He pales. "Kyle, come downstairs… Please?"

"I just feel a bit nauseous," I say. It's true, but I recognize this familiar, hollow feeling. My body wants food. My stomach is whining and I'm getting a headache.

"Fine," Ike relents, standing up and leaving without another word. He's disappointed. I can't seem to stop disappointing people.

* * *

An hour later, I hear the doorbell rings. I hear my mother answer it and start to speak. "He's refusing food again," she says. Her voice is wary and sad. "I caught him making himself sick earlier."

I stand in my doorway and listen. I don't know who she's talking to but I find out a minute later when Stan ascends the stairs, looking tired.

"I don't _want_ you here!" I immediately shout at him. I don't want him to think I'm disgusting. I don't want him to get angry. I don't want him here because I know he _will_ be disgusted and angry.

"You promised," he murmurs.

"I didn't mean to!" I insist.

"Kyle, don't do this again… please," he says weakly. "I can't watch you kill yourself…"

"I won't! I won't do it again! I'm fine, I swear," I yell.

"You know what, Kyle…?" he sighs. "I don't believe you… I'm sorry, but I just don't. You lie and you lie and you lie. You're manipulative and you know how to get your way. I'm sick of it. I don't believe you. I _can't_ believe you. You've never given me a reason to."

He's mad. He's mad at me. I let out a pathetic whimper, trembling and sinking into myself. "Fuck…" I murmur to myself. "Fuck…!"

"Why did you do it?" Stan asks wetly. "Just tell me that much."

"Too many things…" I let out a breath, sniffing. "I had a really bad dream," I whisper. It sounds so fucking stupid when I say it out loud and I know there's no way I can make him understand. I have too much anxiety. It's crippling me.

He frowns. "What happened in it?"

I stare down at my hands, unable to look at him when I say it. "We were _together_," I meekly explain, "but it wasn't… It wasn't right. It was all wrong."

"What was so wrong about it?" he asks gently.

"You…" I start, letting out a breath. "You were hurting me on purpose. You were saying vile things. I felt filthy. You called me disgusting."

He touches my chin, forcing me to look at him and I see that his eyes are glassy. "Listen to me," he says in a steady voice, "I would _never_ say that. You know it and I know it. It was just a dream. It wasn't even a dream, it was a nightmare. It wasn't real. It was a lie… Okay?"

"But I felt it… I still feel it," my voice cracks and he wraps his arms around me. I don't even know who is comforting who right now because we're both crying.

"You… You need to find a healthy way to deal with bad emotions and bad thoughts," he says carefully, as if he's afraid of saying all the wrong things.

"I know," I murmur.

We stay glued together for another few minutes. "I got snot on your sweater," he announces, as we break apart. "Sorry."

I just laugh quietly. "I don't mind."

"What about your photos?" he asks. He kneels and reaches under my bed, pulling out the familiar book and handing it to me.

I let out a shaky sigh, taking it and opening to the center. I stare at all the ugly photos. I don't want to be like that again… do I? I take one of the photos out of the plastic cover. It's a photo of me, Stan, Kenny and Cartman. Stan is smiling. Kenny's eyes look especially bright. Cartman looks smug as ever. I just look withered and dead. I take a roll of tape out from my desk and stick the photograph on the wall near my bed.

Stan watches me silently. "Kyle," he says my name softly. "What're you doing?"

"Reminders," I mumble. "I'll… I should put one in the bathroom." I take another photo out of its plastic covering. This time, it's a photo of me. Just me. I think Stan took it. I didn't want him to take it, but he insisted. In it, I'm bony and emaciated.

"Kyle, you don't have to do that," Stan tries to reason.

"I do… Otherwise I'll just mess up again," I tell him. I curl a piece of tape and stick it to the back of the photograph before walking through the door-less doorway. Stan follows me out and into the bathroom, taping the photo onto the side of the mirror. I stare at it and then I stare at my reflection. Jesus fucking Christ.

Stan grabs my hand. "Let's eat something," he says.

"Fine," I relent.

We walk downstairs and my mom looks relieved to see me. She's in the middle of doing the dishes, but she stops when she spots me and Stan. I offer her a smile.

"Stan has the magic touch," Ike says with a slight innuendo. He's sitting at the kitchen table reading a text book.

I roll my eyes at him. "I'm hungry, Ma," I say.

She looks happy to hear that. "I'll heat you up some supper," she says. "Stan?"

"Sure," he smiles.

We sit down at the kitchen table with Ike and a few minutes later, Mom brings over two plates of food.

"Thanks, Sheila," Stan says.

"Thanks, Ma."

"No problem, boys." She continues doing dishes, probably feeling wholeheartedly relieved.

"Stan…?" I say his name quietly once my ma is preoccupied.

"Hm?" he asks.

"Why didn't you tell me your parents split?"

He smiles sympathetically and I hate it. "Sorry, Kyle…" he says, but he doesn't tell me why.

I grind my teeth and relent, staring over at my mother's back as she stands over the sink. It's so easy for parents to become oblivious. It's simpler that way. Then they won't have to acknowledge that their child isn't perfect. It's always easier when everyone pretends everything is fine. My parents were oblivious for so long. Even after Ike brought up his concern, they brushed him off and insisted his big brother was fine. It's hard to keep pretending when you're finally faced with the consequences. Everything is ruined. Forever. Even now, I'm not okay. I'll never be okay. I'll never be fully recovered because some of the damage is permanent.

I was in a hospital, but once I left, everyone went back to pretending. Like I said, it's easier that way. Everyone pretended except Ike, who always keeps a watchful eye on me. I find that so annoying. There are times I hate him for it, but he is never swayed by my spite. Someday, I'll thank him.


	18. KM: So this is heartbreak

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**I apologize for this chapter's events LOL. Also, sorry for the sporadic update. My best pal is living with me for a little while so I'm busier. **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

The weeks have been slow and steady. Craig hasn't been acting like such a tool and I haven't been nagging him about things he doesn't want to talk about. I've remained tight lipped. He's been smiling more and he said he'd be willing to talk to me later tonight.

"How's Kyle?" I ask Stan during free period. I'm seated across from him at a table and we both have our textbooks out, though we're hardly studying.

He simply shrugs. "Some days are better than others. I never know if I'm helping or hurting."

"Yeah," I sympathize, though I don't really know what it's like. I haven't been around as much. I've been too preoccupied with Craig. "Has he been… eating and stuff?"

"Yeah," Stan murmurs. "Me, Ike and his parents have been making sure. I mean… he either has to eat with us or he can go eat at a hospital with a fucking feeding tube in his face like when he was fifteen. I think he just feels guilty for making us upset when he refuses food… Then he feels guilty for eating afterward and the whole thing is just a shitty cycle. He's all conflicted and then it makes him angry."

"What a sin," I frown. I hate the thought of Kyle going through that once, the possibility of a relapse is something I'd like to avoid happening. For his sake, but also for the sake of Stan and everyone else who cares about him.

"Yeah," he sighs. "I just want him to be happy with himself… I'm worried he never will be."

"Yeah, I know. These things take time. Just be there for him and be patient."

He nods. "Where've you been lately, anyhow?" he asks.

"Me and Bebe broke up," I tell him. Big reveal.

"Wow, really?" he asks. "I never thought I'd see the day."

I chuckle. "Yeah, she's with Clyde now."

"Oh, Clyde must be off the walls about that," he snorts. "And you're still trying to woo Craig?"

I give a slow nod. "Key word, _trying_."

"Is progress still slow?" he asks.

"Alas," I sigh, but I'm being patient. Well, once again, the key word is _trying_. I'm _trying_ to be patient.

He chuckles. "It'll work out. It always does, doesn't it?"

"I guess that's true… but anyway, I don't want to keep talking about depressing shit like my lack of a love life," I chuckle.

"Fair enough."

"Hey, we should all hang out soon," I suggest. "Just the four of us – You, me, Kyle and haven't in a while. I miss it."

"Me too," Stan smiles. He looks tired… no, he looks _exhausted_. He's probably worrying himself sick over things he has no control over. Control… That's what it's all about, isn't it? That's part of why Kyle is sick and that's part of why Craig is afraid. It's all just fucking miserable.

Speaking off –

"Hey, guys," Kyle greets as he finds us in study hall. He sits down next to Stan and takes out his things. "What are we doing?" he asks.

"Well, we _weren't_ doing homework," I say truthfully. "We were mostly procrastinating."

"Oh, shame," Kyle sighs. He opens up his laptop and decides, "I'm going to work on my English essay. Did either of you two decide what you'll be writing on?"

I make a face. "No."

Stan shrugs. "Nope."

Kyle sighs again. "You two…" he trails off, exasperated. "Did you at least pick a novel?"

I shake my head and Stan says, "Nope," again.

Kyle should know by now that none of us are good at starting early. "You do realize it's due in one week," he says slowly. "I just finished my book."

"What did you read?" I ask.

He reaches back into his bag and pulls out a book. "_As I lay Dying_ by William Faulkner."

"Oh," I say, examining the book cover. "Have any suggestions as to what I should read?"

"Me, too," Stan adds.

"Yeah," Kyle says. "I'll bring you both something tomorrow."

"Thanks," I grin big.

"Make sure it's something short," Stan says.

Kyle rolls his eyes at Stan's avoidance of effort. "Got it, _Einstein_."

* * *

Around 6PM I make my way to Craig's house. When I show up, I ring the bell twice. The door opens and Ruby is standing with arms crossed, chewing loudly on a wad of bubble gum. "Where's Craig?" I ask.

"He's upstairs," she says with a little giggle.

I run up to his room and once I near the door I understand what Ruby was laughing at. I can hear it – panting, moaning… wet sex sounds. Nonetheless, I open the door and my eyes go wide. I'm greeted with the sight of Craig – face down, ass up and getting railed by a big dude I've never seen before. He looks older than us, probably a random college douche. He doesn't stop after they notice me. He just keeps moving. Craig stares at me as he gets plowed and I feel my heart sink. Craig's lips part as he pants, the side of his face pressed into the mattress as the stranger holds him down. Ruby walks past me and cackles cruelly before retreating to her own bedroom. "Craig, you're fuckin' gross!" I hear her shout. Craig probably hears it, too. Fuck. This is pure dysfunction. She shouldn't be laughing, she should be helping him see that he deserves more than _this_.

Craig isn't even fazed. His face remains blank. He just looks completely apathetic – almost dead, like a fucking corpse or some shit. He lurches forward with each rough and angry thrust. I want to turn around and run home, but I can't find it in me to move. The guy gives Craig a reach around and begins sloppily jerking him off as he continues to violently thrust and grunt. It's disgusting. I'm disgusted. It's so aggressive and emotionless, I can almost feel it. Hate. I've always thought sex was something beautiful and important, whether or not you do it with friends or lovers… but this is the opposite. This is ugly and wrong. It's a little heartbreaking and it kind of makes me want to cry. I can feel my throat contract. This is all Craig allows himself to have.

I guess I shouldn't be so surprised. Clyde warned me about this.

I watch him come and he is still staring at me as he does it, letting out these soft little sounds. His nose wrinkles and he lets out a breath. My eyes grow watery and all Craig becomes is a blur. I turn around before the tears start to fall and I force myself to leave.

When I'm outside, I begin sobbing because the whole thing is just too fucking sad. I don't even know who I'm crying for – Craig or myself. I try to stop, wanting to convince myself it's not worth it but I can't. I cry until I reach the poor part of town, but then I force myself to calm down because I don't want Karen to say anything about it. I briskly wipe my eyes and take a deep breath.

When I do get home, I find her in the living room talking on the phone. She's laughing loudly. I drown out the sound and grab a granola bar from the kitchen, shoving it in my mouth before returning to the living room. Karen isn't on the phone anymore. She's staring at me like she knows exactly what's been up.

"Ruby said Craig broke your heart," Karen says without an ounce of sympathy.

"Ruby said this, Ruby said that!" I shout, exasperated and angry. "I don't give a flying fuck what Ruby says, Karen! She's a heartless little girl!"

"Touchy, much?" she scoffs. "Then it must be true."

I crash onto the sofa and put my head in my hands. "God… when did it all get fucked?" I ask in a murmur.

She rubs my back. "It's always been fucked, darling. You've just never noticed before because you've played it safe. Love games are never safe. I warned you. I told you that you'd get pulled in. It's happened, hasn't it? You're in too deep."

"It hurts," I whisper.

"Of course it does," she says. "That's love for yah. It almost makes you understand why Craig fears it so much."

I guess this is it. I started the game and now I've lost. Funny, I was so sure I was about to win.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be going out with some friends…" Karen adds. "But if you want, I can stay?"

I shake my head. "Go. Have fun."

* * *

Later in the night, I go downstairs to get something to eat. Karen and Kevin are out, so I'm here alone with my mom and dad. When I'm finished, I hover in the doorway but my parents don't even look at me. "Hey…" I call softly.

No answer.

"Hey!" I shout this time.

Still, no answer.

"Fuck you, Mom!" I scream. "Fuck you, too, Dad!"

They both look taken aback because I never yell. Finally, a reaction.

"Fuck you!" I scream again. "Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOOOOU!" I keep repeating it until my father gets up and slaps me across the face to shut me up. I slump onto the floor and let out an angry sob, panting and trying to calm myself.

"Christ, boy…" Dad spits. He forces me to my feet and drags me downstairs. This part is distantly familiar.

"Wait…" I choke out, stumbling. "Wait…!" He doesn't and soon we reach the bottom of the stairs. We're in the dank basement and he's pushing me into the back room. "NO!" I scream, trying to prevent him from closing the door… but he's stronger than I am. I hear the lock click from the other side and I start crying. I sit on the floor, bringing my knees to my chest and pressing my chin into my knees.

"It's fine, it's fine, it's fine, it's fine…" I try to calm myself but it's not working. The loud whirring of the furnace is all I hear and it's deafening. I squeeze my eyes shut and clasp my palms over my ears, trying to find silence amongst the noise. "Please… please… please…" I sob to myself, hyperventilating.

I don't know how long I'm down here like this, but it's unbearable. I shudder as I feel something brush against my bare foot… probably a rat. Still refusing to open my eyes, I move my hands away from my ears and tangle them in my hair. I kick at the door and start screaming again, feeling like I'll snap if I stay in here for much longer. I keep screaming until my voice is hoarse and my throat is sore and finally, I hear the door open. I stop screaming, taking a deep breath before opening my eyes. It's Karen.

She bends down, wrapping her arms around me tightly as I rest my forehead against her shoulder. "It's okay…" she says in a strangely gentle tone.

I shudder, feeling nauseous and tired.

"I just got home," Karen says, letting go of me. "Ruby is with me. We heard screaming…"

I feel delirious. My lower lip trembles, but I force back another sob and instead let out a childish whimper. "Where is she now?" I ask hoarsely.

"I told her to wait upstairs," she says, offering me her hand and helping me stand. "I knew you'd be crying and she probably would have taken a little too much pleasure in seeing you a mess."

I grimace at that, wiping my eyes dry.

"You know, you have to be careful," she continues. "If they get angry, it never ends well. It's better to let them ignore you."

"I can't help it," I murmur. "I get sick of it… and I forget what it's like in here."

"I know," she says softly.

Hand in hand, we walk back upstairs. My parents are still watching TV. They heard me screaming. They didn't care. It's funny… all I wanted was for them to pay attention to me, even if it meant abuse. I take it back. I think I forgot how much it really scares me.

"Now that you've had some time to think about your action, what d'you hafta say?" Dad asks.

"I hate you," I murmur, "and I'm not sorry." A lie, of course. I find it almost impossible to hate my parents, even with their constant mistakes. I know they know this as well. That's why I feel like I can say it. I'll feel this way for a while, but I'll get over it. I'll love them again, even though I shouldn't. I don't think that hatred is something I'll ever be capable of. If truly hated them, I wouldn't keep trying to get their attention.

"What in Sam Hill is wrong with you, boy?" he demands. "I thought you learned your damn place."

"I hate you…" I murmur again.

Either way, they don't look like they care all that much, but at least I have their attention. "What is this about?" mom warily asks. Her focus is still on the television.

"Just fucking look at me!" I yell.

She lets out a sigh, turning my way. "Well…?"

And suddenly I'm at a loss. I don't know what I say. There's too much and these are feelings I can't quite put into words.

Karen rolls her eyes. "Kenny's just being emo 'cause he wants the good kind of attention," she says, adding her own two cents but I suppose she's right. "Plus his _not boyfriend_ rejected him in a pretty big way." I want to wring her neck right about now.

This gets my dad's attention. "_Boy_friend?" he asks, sounding outraged. "What about that blond girl?"

"We broke up," I state tersely. "You're not allowed to get angry about this shit since you have no fucking clue what's going on in my life. You don't know what's going on in Karen's life either, or Kevin's. You're both just selfish and self-absorbed!"

"So, what, then?" he continues. "You're dating boys now? Trynna make some sort of statement?"

"No," I say tersely. "I like _a_ boy. Just one."

"He must be special, yeah?" Mom asks with a snort.

"I don't know," I murmur. "I just know he's a fucking prick."

"Well, keep trying," she says with a careless sigh. "You'll snare him eventually."

"I already did," I admit, "and now he's snared me."

"Why'd you let that happen?" Dad asks angrily, as if it's my own damn fault.

"I didn't _let_ it happen," I snap. "It just fucking happened. I didn't even realize it."

Mom tilts her head to the side, as if in thought. "Why'd he reject you, then?"

"Because he's fucking scared," I grit, the mere thought of it is causing me to feel anger. "He thinks relationships are just inevitably disappointing. He thinks I'll end up dying or something and he's scared of losing people."

"Well, just prove to him that you won't die," she says simply. "Show him your secret."

I frown and I feel my eyebrows draw together.

"Now are you finished yackin'?" she asks.

"Yeah…" I murmur.

Me and Karen go back upstairs, she retreats to her room while I retreat to mine. I can hear her and Ruby chattering away. I'm going to try and sleep early, but I won't mind the noise. I'll gladly welcome the sound of happy voices over the sound of the fucking furnace.

* * *

At school the next day, Kyle brings me and Stan books. For Stan, he has _Hear the Wind Sing_ by Haruki Murakami for Stan. "This is the shortest book I have," he says with a laugh. "A6 pocket size and only a hundred and thirty pages."

For me, he has _Fight Club_ by Chuck Palahniuk. "Fitting," Stan snickers.

I just force a smile. I haven't gotten in a fight in a while. I've had other things to worry about… but then again, if Bill started shit I wouldn't hesitate to wreck him worse than ever.

"You okay?" Kyle asks.

"Not exactly," I admit. "Craig told me to come over last night. So, I did… and he was getting fucked by some guy. I think he wanted me to see it. It was a big _fuck you_ to me… Tsk. Clyde warned me about Craig doing this kind of shit, but I thought it was over… I thought he was coming around… Guess I was fucking wrong."

Stan's lips part. "Holy hell, what an asshole. First Clyde, then Lola and now you… He's got a pretty bad track record with this kind of shit."

"You deserve better than him," Kyle adds. "He's not going to be good to you."

"I know," I murmur. "I think I get it now. I'm going to try and forget about him. He's probably more trouble than it's worth."

Kyle smiles sympathetically and Stan pats my shoulder.

* * *

During my elective class, I tell Bebe what happened. I tell her what my parents did and what Craig did and she looks immensely disappointed. "I'm going to kill them all," she murmurs.

I just shrug. "Don't bother," I tell her. "It's not worth it. He's not worth it. My parents aren't worth it. I'm not worth it."

"Do you really believe that?" she asks. "Come on, honey. You're worth so much. Don't let that asshole bring you down to his level. You can't force away your feelings. If you love Craig, you have to do something about it."

"There is literally no way I can make him understand," I say. "He's too warped." But I can't help but think back to what my mom said last night – _show him_. Maybe that's what I'll have to do… I just don't know how I'll do it. This will be my last attempt. If this doesn't work, I'm done. I'm so fucking done.


	19. SM: Until then

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Thanks for reviewing! **

**Stan's POV**

* * *

I've been lazy lately. I've been wearing pajamas to school all week and I haven't shaved in ages. I've got a bit of a hobo thing going on.

Kyle hasn't let me come to any of his other therapy sessions. Sometimes his parents and Ike go with him, though. Kyle will be forced to listen to them talk about how his problems have effected them. It seems unfair, but then again I don't really know a damn thing about psychology or how it works. I just know that Kyle has a lot of guilt as it is and he doesn't need any more.

"How's therapy?" I ask gingerly as Kenny and Cartman walk ahead of us.

Kyle shrugs, removing the cigarette from between his lips. "Fine," he says vaguely, flicking ash onto the snow.

"Really?" I pry, trying to coax him into saying something more than just a one word answer.

"Really," he insists, smiling to prove his point. I'd like to believe him, but Kyle lies a lot. I never know if I'm doing the right thing by believing him. I know that when it comes to illnesses and maladies, it's normal for the person to try and hide things... but it's still frustrating.

"If you say so," I murmur.

This time, Kyle doesn't respond. Instead, he just smiles again and jogs ahead, catching up with Cartman and Kenny. I relent and do the same. We're on our way home from school now. Craig showed up today and Kenny acted like he was totally fine. It was convincing. If I didn't know better, I might have believed it. He laughed and joked and pretended that he didn't even know Craig was in the room. Craig looked even more depressing than he usually looks. Maybe he feels bad about the stunt he pulled. He kind of deserves to. If he does, then I guess he's not as heartless as he tries so damn hard to be.

"What's the plan?" Kenny asks, up for after school activity.

"Let's go to my place," Cartman suggests.

And no one complains, so we walk on until we reach the familiar townhouse. Kyle discards his cigarette at the bottom of Cartman's driveway and once we're inside, Liane greets us happily.

"Hi, Liane," Kenny says sweetly. "You look pretty."

"Thank you, darling," she coos at him.

Cartman wrinkles his nose at them both. Kenny often does this to get a rise out of Cartman and he always succeeds. The three of us continue into the living room while Kenny keeps chatting up Liane.

"Fuckin' piss poor bastard," Cartman murmurs with distaste. "Trynna make moves on my myem."

I can't help but laugh. "You know he only does this to bother you, right?"

Cartman slumps into the sofa and crosses his arms. "I don't give a shit. It's fuckin' weird nonetheless."

I can't disagree, but that's Kenny for yah. A moment later, he enters the room with his hood down, grinning splendidly. Cartman doesn't bother acknowledging him. Instead, he picks up the remote and turns the television on, aimlessly flipping through channels.

"So, uh," I say in an attempt to end the awkward silence lingering. "How's school? How's life?"

"Boring," Kenny sighs.

"Fine," Kyle adds, yet another one word response.

"Lively bunch you all are," I murmur.

Suddenly, Cartman begins smirking. "I heard something interesting earlier today," he starts cryptically.

"And what was that?" I ask.

"A little bird told me something interesting about our dear Kinny," he continues in a falsely sympathetic, simpering tone. "A little bird told me that he was into Mr. Craig Tucker and that Mr. Craig Tucker rejected him… with the use of very _few_ words."

Kenny's eyes narrow. "Who told you that?"

"A certain strawberry blonde," Cartman supplies.

"Ruby," Kenny growls the name. "What the hell were you doing talking to her?"

Cartman shrugs. "I see her around sometimes. We'll swap information."

"Christ, I hate you so much sometimes," Kenny mutters.

"Likewise, you poor piece of shit," the fat ass retorts.

"She's a liar, you know," Kenny tells him. "So, you better not take some of the shit she says too seriously because she likes playing around with people."

Cartman shrugs carelessly. "I have a feeling the stuff she said about you is true, though, huh?"

Kenny's jaw tightens and he doesn't bother denying it.

Kyle stays silent, but he looks upset. He's sitting on the floor by Cartman's leg, staring intently at the television screen as if he's trying hard to concentrate on what's happening in the TV show rather than what's happening in this room.

"Guys," I cut in warily. "Shut up."

For once, they do.

"I'm going to get high," Kenny murmurs, pulling out a plastic bag with a joint in it. "Anyone want?"

"No, thanks," I say, not a fan of drugs.

"Hippie," Cartman grimaces.

"Kyle?" Kenny asks.

"No… It makes you hungry," he says quietly.

"Right…" Kenny bites his lip. "Shit, sorry."

"S'fine," Kyle promises.

"Go outside to smoke, Kinny," Cartman says, jabbing his thumb towards the back balcony.

Kenny nods, doing so.

* * *

I walk Kyle home afterward and he invites me in. I greet his parents and Ike before following him upstairs. I can still see that photo taped on the wall near his desk. I force myself to look away and when I do, Kyle sighs. "Don't worry about it, Stan," he says. "Don't think about it."

"It's hard not to," I admit. I know that relapse is normal… but I don't want him to go back to where he was when we were fifteen. I flop onto his bed and he sits down next to me.

"We haven't kissed since…" he trails off, "you know…"

"Yeah, I know," I tell him. "It's fine, Kyle. We're doing this all at your pace."

"That makes me selfish," he tries to reason. "It shouldn't all be about me. What about what _you_ want?"

"I want what you want," I say simply.

He rolls his eyes, but then smiles. "You're too nice…" I return the smile, but don't argue with him. I'd like to tell him I'm nice because he deserves it, but I know he would just insist he didn't. He places a hand on my stubbly cheek and says, "You should shave."

"Aw, what?" I joke. "You don't like my beard?" I pride myself on being one of the few seniors who can actually grow a full beard.

He just smiles, rubbing circles on my hairy cheeks. "You know," he starts, "Someday you'll get tired of me."

"No, I won't," I attempt to assure him.

"You will," he insists. "You won't be able to help it. It's just something that will happen."

"Ky… Why are you saying that?" I ask. "What's this about?"

"What if I don't want to sleep with you?" he questions. "What if –"

"Hey," I cut him off. "I told you, I don't care. I just like being near you. That's enough for me."

He lets out a short laugh. "Funny, Stan…" he murmurs. "This is coming from the guy who was so fucking excited after fucking Wendy for the first time. You two humped every chance you got…"

I guess he's right about that. "You're different, though," I say.

"How?" he asks. "How am I different?"

I open my mouth to answer him, only to close it a second later when I realize I don't know how to respond.

"Fuck you, Stan!" he suddenly shouts. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" He keeps repeating the words, getting louder and louder until I grab him and put my hand over his mouth.

"Kyle… stop," I say softly.

He closes his eyes and I take my hand away. "I'm sorry," he apologizes flatly.

"You're not going to scare me away, you know," I tell him. "I promise."

"Fine," he relents. "Fine..."

My phone beeps a moment later. I pull it out of my pocket and see that I have a message from Kenny.

KENNY M: _stnan_

Erm. I think he's trying to type my name, but I can't be sure. "Stah-nan?" I say aloud with a snicker before responding –

YOU: _ken, you good?_

KENNY M: _sdlgiam gooid_

I raise an eyebrow and show Kyle the message. "Jesus Christ…" he murmurs. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"S-D-L-G… Yeah, I don't know about the first part," I squint at the text, "but… it looks like he's saying he's good?" I shrug and reply –

YOU: _are you sure?_

KENNY M: _idke wahtt do_

YOU: _where are you? are you at home?_

He doesn't answer again after that. I glance at Kyle, who only shakes his head in return. "Maybe we should go check on him?" I suggest.

"Yeah, that might be a good idea," Kyle agrees.

* * *

When we arrive at the McCormick residence, we open the door without bothering to knock. We greet Carol and Stuart, who are watching TV, and I ask, "Is Kenny here?"

Without sparing us a glance, Carol points to the stairway.

"Thanks…" I murmur. Me and Kyle run upstairs and enter Kenny's room, only to find it empty.

"Bathroom?" Kyle suggests.

I shrug and we make our way down the skinny hallway. I give Kyle a sceptical look before carefully pushing open the door, hearing it give a loud creek. When we walk inside it's dim and we are faced with the naked form of Kenny McCormick, unconscious and lying pressed against the side of the bath. I let out a sigh, going to check his pulse. I feel a heartbeat. He isn't dead and I'm relieved. "Kenny…" I shake him, trying to get him to open his eyes. He moans and his lids flutter. "Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" I ask, helping him sit up straight.

"Oh, fuck," he whispers in a high pitched, drunken slur. "I drink… I drank too much." There's a crease in his brow that is telling me he probably has a bit of a headache.

"Why would you go and do a thing like that?" I frown, though I'm sure I could easily think of a few reasons.

"Because I feel like _shiiiit_," he says. He probably let Cartman get the best of him.

Kyle sits down next to him and I go to fetch a glass of water. Downstairs, Carol and Stuart are both in the living room, still sitting in front of the TV. It makes me kind of angry that they're oblivious to what their children are doing. They don't care. "Kenny passed out drunk," I tell them. "He could have died, you know. What if he drowned in his own barf?"

"Then he'd come back," Carol murmurs, sounding tired and uncaring.

"But you'd have to give birth yet again," I explain. "Don't you want to save him and yourself a little pain?"

"It doesn't hurt anymore," she says.

I frown at that. How fucked up. "Just… check up on your kids every so often." Christ.

She doesn't respond. I go into the kitchen and fill a plastic cup with tap water before returning back upstairs. When Kenny spots me, he smiles. "Thanks for trying," he says. He's still sitting in the corner of the room, against the tub. His knees are drawn to his chest so we aren't forced to see his netheregions. Not that it's anything new for me. I've seen every part of him.

"You heard?" I question, offering him the cup.

He takes it and says, "Yeah."

"Want me to, uh, get you something to wear?" I ask, still standing.

"Oh… That'd be cool, yeah," he says easily. "Thanks."

I nod and exit the bathroom once more, turning down the hallway and into Kenny's bedroom. I open his closet doors and sift through his clothing, grabbing an orange t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. "These'll do," I say to myself. I close his closet door and walk back up the hallway. "Dude, here." Kyle helps him stand while I help him get dressed and he looks pretty embarrassed.

"Thanks, guuuuys," he says, playing it off. "It means a lot that you came to check up on me."

"After your text, we got a bit concerned," I tell him. We all return to the floor and sit together in the dark, cupboard of a bathroom.

He just laughs sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that… drunk textin', you know how it is."

"Are you all right?" Kyle asks. "Did stupid Cartman upset you?"

"A bit," Kenny admits. "I'm dumb for letting 'im get to me. Hell, I never let 'im get to me. I don't know why I'm being such a loser lately."

Kyle smiles somewhat bitterly. "I always let him get to me."

"It's justified," I reason. "He makes you his special target."

"I suppose," Kyle relents and Kenny nods his agreement. Cartman isn't being such an asshole to Kyle lately, though. He knows better. Maybe that's why he made Kenny his target today. It's like he _needs_ to fuck around with someone and push them as far as he possibly can. "Do you think Craig is worth all this trouble?" Kyle wonders.

"I don't fuckin' know," Kenny admits. "I've never wanted anyone this bad before… and it's killing me that he doesn't want me in return."

"He probably does," I say. "He's just a dick and doesn't know what to do with the way he feels."

"If he's really worth it and he feels the same way, then you should keep trying," Kyle suggests softly. "Soon enough, he'll understand."

Kenny smiles. "Maybe."

The three of us continue to chatter until we spot Karen standing in the doorway. "What the fuck are you all doing in the bathroom?" she asks. "Circle jerking?"

"Hangin' out," Kenny tells her.

"God, you guys are weird," she mutters, before walking off.

We spend the next half an hour talking about pointless shit, the kind of shit that might make us laugh, but eventually Kenny stands up. "I think I'm going to sleep," he announces.

"It's pretty early, dude," I say as me and Kyle follow Kenny to his feet.

"Yeah, I don't want to be awake anymore and I'm too drunk to keep my eyes open," he murmurs warily. "But thanks for coming over," he adds with a smile. He opens his arms and wraps me and Kyle up in a three-way hug. I pat his back a few times and once we separate he leaves the room. We follow him into the hallway and downstairs into the entrance.

"Bye," I bid him a farewell while Kyle holds up a hand and waves.

"See you guys," Kenny says, waving lazily in return.

* * *

Outside, Kyle runs around the streets, making footprints in the freshly fallen snow. He seems to be in a lighter mood than he was earlier and, for that, I'm relieved.

I run after him, laughing by the time I catch up. I love him. I mean it. I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him.

"Ah, I really like the snow," he announces as we near his house.

"Me, too," I say, taking his hand and holding it in mine.

As we stop in front of the driveway he turns my way, standing in front of me. "I'm gonna do something," he says.

"Okay," I reply and he gingerly touches his lips to mine. It's slow and soft. We break apart with a soft _smack_ sound and Kyle is smiling.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says.

"Yeah, until then," I smile back. I watch him walk up the driveway until he disappears into his house and then I continue home.


	20. KM: Watch me pull the trigger

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Woah! Almost 200 reviews :)**

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

At school, I meet up with Bebe and Clyde, who inform me that Craig isn't going to be in class. That doesn't surprise me. I pretend not to care, dismissing the piece of information with feigned apathy. I wonder if I'm really fooling them, though. I'm probably not and if I'm not fooling them I'm definitely not fooling myself.

During my free period I go behind the school, rather than finding Stan and Kyle like I usually do. I spot Tweek sitting on the cement stairwell and I call, "Hey, you skipping?" because I didn't see him in class earlier.

He shudders and shrieks, dropping his cigarette on the snow. He picks it up before turning around. "K-Kenny," he stutters my name. Man, he looks like shit. He's got a couple sores on his face and his eyes are swollen. It's a shame. He's going to ruin his looks completely if he keeps playing with the hard stuff. I'm surprised the school hasn't tried to force help onto him yet.

I smile. "Hi, Tweek. How're you doing?" I descend the stairs and sit down next to him.

He offers me his cigarette, which I gladly take. "I'm good. How are you?"

I remove my hood and I suck the smoke into my mouth. "I'm good, too," I tell him, letting the smoke leave my lungs.

I hand the cigarette back to him and he frowns, eying me. "You don't look good," he accuses.

"Seriously?" I ask, feigning wary emotion and not bothering to return the comment. "And I thought I had everyone fooled! Damn!"

"What is it, then?" Tweek asks.

"How much time do you have?" I snort.

"As much as you need," he offers.

"Cool, thanks," I grin. "So, how well do you know Craig?" I wonder. "I know you used to be friends… but now I hardly see you with him."

"Craig is kind of…" Tweek trails off and twitches, letting out an irritated groan. "He's a difficult person to know."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"He sees things differently," Tweek explains, "and it gets –nng–! It gets really tiring! He doesn't try to change things. He just accepts things as they are, even if a change would be healthy for him and everyone else."

"Oh," I murmur. Yeah, I definitely learned that much. "Why aren't you friends with him anymore?"

"He told me he didn't want to be my friend," he says forlornly. "I wanted to coax out a better answer than that from him, but at the same time… I knew he wouldn't give me one."

"That's not fair," I sympathize. "If he said something like that so suddenly, you at least deserved a reason… you were once close."

"I know," Tweek says, "but it's too late now. I haven't spoken to him since then."

"When did it happen?" I ask.

"It wasn't too long ago," he explains, twitching again. "We were fifteen… few years after his mum offed 'erself. He began slowly distancing himself from everything and everyone when it happened, so I kind of expected our friendship to suffer, but I didn't think he'd outright end it."

"Tsk," I click my tongue. "Does he care about _anything_?"

Tweek smiles faintly. "He does and that's the problem," he starts, sounding strangely sage. "When he begins to care he doesn't know what to do. A lot of people think Craig is fearless, but he's actually the opposite. The only reason he seems fearless is because he avoids the things he's scared of. He doesn't even acknowledge them."

"I know," I sigh. That's another thing I've learned by being close to him. It's the one thing I wish I could change about him… or at least help him through. But he won't let me. He won't let anyone.

Tweek digs a hole in the snow with his long fingers and buries his cigarette inside. "You want to be his friend, don't you?"

"Yeah," I say. "I thought we were close to becoming friends, but… he pushed me away just when I thought I was making progress with him."

Tweek nods. "That's how he does it. Craig reels people in just to spite them when he has them hooked and that usually keeps them from coming back. He likes it like that."

"It's so cruel," I murmur.

* * *

In English class, we're taking a quiz. I can see Eric trying to sneak a peek at Kyle's answers and it makes me want to roll my eyes. I stare down at my own sheet and sigh. I didn't study for this one. I didn't even do the assigned reading. Oh, well. I'll try and wing it. Sometimes that works.

Near the end of the class, the teacher passes back our essays – the one I did on _Fight Club_. Once she calls my name, I walk up to the front to fetch it. As I walk back to my seat, I flip to the last page and spot a big C below my reference page. Okay, not bad… a C is average. "Hey," I nudge Eric. "What did you get?"

"I got a C plus," he says, showing me his mark. Yeah, there it is – a C _plus_. He beat me.

"Fuck," I mutter. Eric rarely ever gets a higher mark than me. I'm lazy and he's stupid.

"What did you get, then?" he asks, looking smug. "D?"

"No, I got an even C," I tell him. "Kyle?"

The redhead turns around. "Hm?"

"What did you get?"

"An A plus," he states. Naturally. "What about you?"

"I got a C," I say, shrugging. "Stan?"

He flashes his mark. "I got a B."

"Nicely done," I tell him.

Well, at least this is one less thing I have to worry about now and there are no upcoming assignments. Now I can have some time to think about the things I need to sort out.

* * *

After school, I go straight home. I don't bother seeing if anyone wants to hang out because I'm not feeling particularly social. Once I get to my house, I swing open the door and then slam it shut after I'm in. I kick off my boots and flop onto the sofa. By the looks if it, I'm home alone. But just to make sure, I shout, "KAREN!"

No answer.

"KEVIN!" I try.

Again, no answer.

"Whatever," I mutter to myself. I watch television for a little while until I get bored. I'm also a little horny, so I retreat to my room after turning the TV off. I open my laptop and decide to watch porn. Ah, the loneliest activity in the world. I grab my dick and watch a chick rub herself on screen. I mute the volume so I'll be able to hear if anyone returns home. It's never fun when you're caught in a compromising situation.

I accidentally come on my sheets. "Shit," I cuss, tucking myself back into my pants and wiping the jizz off with a tissue. I'll wash the sheets later. I can't be fucked to do it now. I close my laptop and place it on the floor before leaning back against my pillow and thinking. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath for a few seconds. Is Craig worth it? Yes or no?

* * *

I've decided yes and now I'm on my way to his house. I've got my backpack with me but instead of my school supplies it's filled with necessities. It's cold, it's snowing and by the time I get to his place I'm frozen. I knock on the door and Ruby lets me in. "You're back," she states, as if she didn't think I would be.

"Yeah," I tell her.

"Why are you back?" She raises an eyebrow at me, probably thinking about how god damn pathetic I am.

"Because I have something to show Craig," I say vaguely. "So, you gonna let me in? It's fucking cold out here."

"Right," she murmurs, opening the door and allowing me to step inside. "You know where he is," she says with a sigh.

I thank her and go upstairs, entering his room. Unlike last time I was here, this time he is alone. I'm thankful for it. He's sitting on his bed in shorts and a t-shirt with a book in his hands. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he asks once he spots me hovering.

"You fucked it up," I tell him. "You always fuck things up! Why won't you allow yourself to feel things, Craig? You're the worst hypocrite! You fear the exact thing you did to me… So fuck you… Fuck you…"

His lower lip trembles and he opens his mouth, letting out a breath. He's crying on his bed and I'm crying by the door. He shakes as my voice grows louder. "Just go…" It's a meek demand, not holding much intent. "I don't _want_ you here."

"No," I refuse. "That's too fucking bad."

"Why…?" he asks.

"Get up," I instruct. "Get up and get dressed. I'm going to fucking show you something. I'm going to make you finally fucking understand what I've been trying to communicate and then I'm going to finally stop bothering you."

He doesn't move. I approach the bed and grab both his wrists, forcing him up off the mattress just to have him slump back down to the floor. "I can't," he whispers, sobbing quietly.

"Yes, you fucking can!" I snap. "Don't be pathetic."

"You're supposed to hate me now," he murmurs, "and this is supposed to finally stop… I want it to stop…"

"I don't _hate_," I tell him genuinely. "It's just not something I have in me… but anger is another thing. It takes a lot to make me angry, but right now you've got me _fucking_ pissed. So, I'll say it once more… Stand up!" I sift through his closet and dig out clothes for him to wear before helping him put them on. Once he's dressed, I drag him downstairs. Stubbornly, he puts his boots and coat on and we make our way outside. It's dark by now and I text Stan to meet us at Stark's Pond.

I have a plan. I'll do what I have to, even if it hurts. It'll hurt Craig, too, but I think it's something that has to be done.

"Where are we going?" Craig asks. I have a tight hold on his wrists so he can't run away from me. After tonight, he won't be able to run away from me again. He'll understand. I'll make him.

"To Stark's Pond," I tell him.

"Let go," he demands. "You're hurting me." I loosen my grip slightly, but I don't let go. He relents with a sigh and then asks, "Why are we going to Stark's Pond?"

"We're meeting Stan," I say, glancing over at him. "He's going to help me show you something."

"What?" He looks irritated at my vagueness.

"You'll see," I murmur.

He stops asking questions and the rest of the walk is quiet. Once we reach Stark's Pond, it's even darker without the street lamps lighting up the night. Stan shows up a moment later, announcing his presence with a, "Hey."

"Hey," I greet him in return while Craig just stays silent.

"All right," Stan says. "Why am I here?"

"I'm going to need your help," I tell him. "It's important."

"Erm… 'kay," he says slowly.

I finally let go of Craig, knowing he probably won't run off and if he does, I'll easily chase him down. I know my way around these woods better than most people.

"I'm going to show Craig something," I explain. "I'm going to prove a point."

"Oh…" Stan murmurs.

"What the fuck kind of point are you trying to prove?" Craig asks flatly.

"Just wait," I mutter. I swing the backpack off my shoulder and attempt to mentally ready myself. I suppose that, no matter how many times I do this, it never gets any damn easier. "Look at me, Craig," I demand.

Stan is frowning. He looks ultimately confused and even a little afraid.

Craig shuts his eyes upon hearing my demand, but he opens them a moment later and when he does, he slowly faces me. I unzip my backpack and finger the gun for a moment before pulling it out.

"What's that?" Craig whispers in a weak voice.

Stan lets out an audible breath, as if he's finally pieced everything together. He understands what I'm about to do. He probably understands why, as well.

I force a smile his way and request, "Film this, will yah, Stan?" I pull a crappy, little camera out of my backpack and hand it to him. He takes it, turning it on and getting it ready. I take off my parka, toss it to the side and then add, "I want to see his reaction… but I also want the proof for him to watch."

"Fine," Stan murmurs.

"My reaction?" Craig asks, eying the gun.

"Yes, Craig, you're reaction," I say. I slowly raise it to my temple and Craig starts to shake.

"No…" his voice trembles. "What are you doing?"

"Watch," I tell him.

Craig begins to move forward, but Stan holds him back with the hand that isn't currently aiming the camera.

"Here we go," I mutter to myself. I close my eyes, take another deep breath and then pull the trigger.

_Bang. _


	21. SM: Snuff film

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Huehuehuehue. **

**Stan's POV**

* * *

I'm still not sure why I'm here, but I know it's important.

"Look at me, Craig," Kenny shouts. There's something about his tone I can't help but find unsettling. It's raining out and it's coming down hard and heavy. I know Kenny has something planned and I'm afraid to find out what it might be.

Craig squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. When he opens them, he slowly turns to face Kenny, who then pulls out a gun and a cheap looking camera from his backpack.

"What's that?" Craig whispers weakly.

I close my eyes, fully aware he's going to kill himself. What a cruel thing to do. I know the only reason he's doing it is because we'll all forget, but still… it all seems a bit pointless.

"Film this, will yah, Stan?" he requests, handing me the camera and then taking off his parka. "I wanna see his reaction… but I also want the proof for him to watch."

Oh, wow. So this is how it's gonna go.

"Fine," I murmur, turning it on and setting it to record.

"My reaction?" Craig asks, looking fearfully confused as he eyes the gun.

"Yes, Craig, you're reaction." Kenny slowly raises it and Craig shudders.

"No… What are you doing?" he demands, his voice wavering. With the hand that isn't aiming the camera, I grab Craig's wrist, preventing him from entering the danger zone.

"Here we go." Kenny takes a deep breath and then closes his eyes.

_Bang_.

He slumps forward in a heap, his head is now a giant open wound. And the blood… Oh, fuck, the blood. I grimace as the white snow turns red. Craig screams, loudly and I finally let go of him. I didn't know he had it in him. "No, no, no, no!" he repeats, covering his mouth and sobbing into his hands. He sinks to his knees and shakes. I feel really bad filming him instead of comforting him, but I think I understand why Kenny wants me to do it. It's because he wants Craig to understand, too. Soon, Craig _will_ understand it. After a couple minutes of filming his grief, I turn it off and approach Kenny's body. I put the camera in my pocket and then pick up Kenny's parka before kneeling next to Craig. I know he's an asshole, but I can't help feeling really bad for him right now. I tentatively wrap my arms around him and say, "I know it seems bad and there's no way I can tell you it'll be fine… but soon, trust me. It's not as it seems." He shakes in my hold, but doesn't speak. I rub his back a few times and then help him stand. "I'll walk you home," I offer.

On the walk back to his house, I talk nonstop about the dumbest things… silly things that don't matter. "Craig…?" I say his name after finishing another tirade.

He mumbles a "hm" but doesn't actually say anything.

"You should stop torturing people," I suggest carefully. "It's not right to play with people's emotions."

"Shut up," he whispers harshly. "You don't know anything… You don't know…"

"Yeah, fine," I murmur, deciding to shut up. He continues swiping at his cheeks each time a tear falls but he doesn't say another word.

* * *

At his house, I follow him to his room and Ruby is looking particularly curious. "Why's Craig crying?" she asks. She sounds strangely concerned.

"He saw something bad," I tell her vaguely as I walk past her and follow Craig into his room. He's now lying on his bed, still shaking and sniffing. I place Kenny's parka next to him. "Trust me when I say it's going to be fine," I whisper.

"I'll take it from here," Ruby says from the doorway. "You should go home. It's getting late."

"No, I really think I should –" I start, but she cuts me off with a loud sigh.

"I'm not going to ask him what happened, Stan Marsh. So, don't worry. Your business will remain your own… Besides, Craig won't tell me anyway. He'll stay silent no matter how much I nag." She enters the room and lies on the bed with her brother, taking his hand. They remind me a bit of Kenny and Karen. No matter how shitty they act to one another, they _do_ care. I guess it's fine to leave him like this.

"All right," I agree. "Keep an eye on him, yeah?"

"Yeah," she says softly.

I let myself out and walk back to my house… To my mom's house. When I get there I place Kenny's cheap video camera on my desk and write a note to myself in my phone.

_kenny died. watch film on desk. _

I set the reminder for the morning after tomorrow. It's a habit. I never used to believe him because the memory gets washed from my mind. That's why I write myself notes. That way I can remember to ask him if he's okay, if it hurt, if he wants to talk…

* * *

Around 9PM the following night, I decide to go to Kyle's house. Upon arrival, Sheila ushers me inside, looking like she has something important to say.

"Is he okay?" I ask frantically.

"Oh, yes, yes," she laughs warily. "It's nothing like that."

"Then… what is it?" I frown.

She lets out a soft sigh. "I wasn't going to say anything, but I feel like I have to, as a mother," she starts. "I saw you with Kyle the other night… at the end of the driveway."

"Oh," I state numbly. She saw us kissing…

"Please be careful," she pleads. "Don't hurt him."

"I would never…" I say. "I promise."

"I know you say that now, but some promises are hard to keep. I know my son and I know he's… high maintenance. I'm not simply talking about his disorder, I mean in general."

"I don't mind it," I tell her. "I used to be impatient about some stuff… I used to be really mean and I probably made it worse at times, but I get it now. I've done my research."

"Are you prepared to help him through worse times than this?" she asks me.

"I know it's not going to be easy, but I'm not going to leave him when things get rough… I don't know how bad things might get, but I won't leave him. I swear."

She nods her head a few times. "Kyle is upstairs in his room. I think he's reading… but hold on," she adds, walking into the kitchen and returning a moment later with a flavoured yogurt cup along with a spoon. "Give this to him."

"Okay." I give her a reassuring smile and make my way upstairs. I enter the doorless threshold and say, "Hey, there."

He glances over at me and smiles. "Hey," he greets, putting his book down. He's sitting on his bed wearing pajama pants and one of my old t-shirts.

"What are you reading?" I ask, approaching his bed.

"_Wuthering Heights_," he says, tapping the cover of the novel before setting it down. "It's a classic."

"How exciting," I say, giving him a peck on the lips.

He chuckles. "Yeah, you would probably hate it."

I sit down next to him and hand him the yogurt cup. "Here, your mom said to give this to you."

He takes the spoon first and examines it, as if he's making sure it's clean and spotless. Next he takes the yogurt cup, peeling the wrap away and sticking the spoon in. He stirs a few circles before taking a spoonful into his mouth. "Fuck, Stan, don't watch me eat," he murmurs uncomfortably. "I hate when you do that."

I smile sheepishly, deciding to tell him about Kenny. "Kenny killed himself last night to prove a point to Craig. He made me tape the whole thing so he can show Craig the video later on as proof."

"Jesus Christ," Kyle murmurs.

"I know," I agree.

"I guess that will likely make an impact," he says.

"I'll say," I agree once more. "It was really messy. Craig actually cried."

Kyle stirs the yogurt around with the spoon some more. "I guess that means something. He must care."

"Yeah," I say, watching him from the corner of my eye to make sure the yogurt ends up in his mouth.

"Stan, stop watching me," he demands knowingly. "You're not stealthy and I'm not fucking retarded."

"All right," I relent. "I'm sorry."

"Look," he says, shoving the cup in my face.

I glance inside of it and see that it's now empty. "Oh, awesome," I smile.

He smiles in an in-your-face kind of way before standing up and leaving the room. He returns a couple minutes later and I ask. "Where'd you go?"

"I put the spoon in the sink and the empty cup in the garbage," he says dryly.

"Oh," I chuckle.

"It's the weekend now… Are you staying over tonight?" he asks.

"Yeah, if you want me to."

"I want you to."

"Okay," I grin.

* * *

Later in the night, I stand up and allow him to make his bed because I know he wants to. I don't mention it, I just let him do it. "By the way," I decide to add, "your mom knows we're together."

Kyle chokes. "What? How?"

"She saw us kissing outside," I explain. "She brought it up earlier when I first got here."

"Well, fuck," Kyle deadpans, pressing his palm to his bed and smoothing out the creases in the sheets once he's finished.

"It's okay, though," I assure him. "She wasn't angry or anything… she didn't even seem all that surprised."

"Oh," Kyle murmurs. He turns off the lights and lies down on his newly made bed.

"Don't worry about it." I remove my jeans and sweater before joining him.

"Okay," he says softly.

We both lie down side by side. I'm half expecting Sheila to barge in and tell me to use the guestroom, but she doesn't.

Nothing else is said and Kyle falls asleep first. Once my eyes adjust to the lighting, I watch him breath and I can't help but notice how at peace he is like this. I wish he'd look like that when he was awake, too. I place my hand on his flat abdomen, watching it rise and fall with each breath he takes. God, I fucking love him.

* * *

Kyle is already awake by the time I open my eyes. He's dressed in a fresh change of clothing and I can see that his hair is still damp from showering.

He smiles and says, "Good morning."

"G'morning," I murmur back, sitting up. "It's Saturday," I point out. "What do you want to do today?"

"I don't know," he shrugs.

Suddenly, my phone alarm goes off. "What the fuck?" I mutter as I get out of bed. I grab it from the pocket of my jeans and click on the reminder.

_kenny died. watch film on desk. _

"Huh…?" I say to myself. I look at Kyle and announce, "Apparently Kenny died and there's a film on my desk at home I'm supposed to watch."

"Well," Kyle deadpans. "I guess that's what we'll do today."

I pull my clothes back on and the two of us leave.

* * *

When we get to my house, I immediately dig out my keys and open the door. The two of us pile inside and kick off our boots before running upstairs. I'm feeling pretty damn curious about what this video might be about.

"Here it is," I say, picking up the cheap, silver camera and turning it on. I sit on my bed next to Kyle and start the video.

All you can see is Kenny. It's dim, but you can still make him out clearly. Free of his parks, he begins waving a gun around. He puts it at his temple and you can hear someone who isn't in the shot screaming, "No!" repeatedly… but to no avail. Kenny pulls the trigger and me and Kyle shudder.

"Holy fuck," I mutter, staring intently at the little screen.

In the video, Kenny falls onto the snow, making a bloody mess and the camera moves away from him and towards someone else.

"Is that… Craig?" Kyle wonders aloud as the figure on screen falls to his knees and starts wailing.

"I think so," I say, shocked because of how much emotion he's showing. He's grieving openly.

"How sad…" Kyle sympathizes. "Imagine seeing Kenny kill himself and not knowing that he's immortal."

"I'd probably react similarly to Craig," I admit.

Kyle shakes his head and sighs. "We should call Kenny and see how he is," he suggests.

"Yeah, good idea." I turn the camera off and place it back on my desk. I pull out my phone and dial Kenny's phone number. Once he answers, I press speaker so Kyle and I can both hear and speak.

"_Hello?_" comes Kenny's familiar voice.

"Hey, dude," I greet.

"Hi, Kenny," Kyle says.

"_Oh, hey, guys! What's up?"_

"We know you died," I tell him. "We just wanted to know if you were okay. I still have your fuckin' snuff film."

"_Aw, how nice_," he coos at us. "_Yeah, I'm all right. Thanks for filming it, Stan_."

"Wait," I pause. "I filmed it?"

"_Well, duh!"_ he exclaims. "_Who else didja think it'd be?"_

"Shit, I dunno," I admit, "just not me…"

"It was on your desk, Stan," Kyle informs me wearily, as if that should have been the ultimate clue.

"_Exactly, smart guy_," Kenny laughs. "_Anyway, there's no rush. I'll pick it up from you later on today_."

"Okay, sounds good," I say. "Come over whenever."

"_Will do_," he sings. "_See you guys_."

"Yeah, bye," I say.

"Bye, Kenny," Kyle adds. "What a crazy bastard," he says once the phone call is finished.

"I know, right?" I laugh. I wonder how Craig will react to seeing the documented proof. Hopefully he'll accept it rather than simply denying it.

* * *

After phoning Kenny, Kyle and I end up watching a few movies. We sit on my bed together and watch _The Brothers Bloom_ on my laptop, followed by _The Labyrinth_ and then _Howl's Moving Castle_. I hear the front door open downstairs, but I don't bother going to see who it is. It's either my mom or Shelly. I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, and they stop in front of my room so I'm assuming it's my mom. There's a soft knock and I pause the video before calling, "Yeah?"

The door opens and my mother is standing there in her work clothes. "Oh, hi, boys," she greets. "How are you, Kyle?"

"Hi, Sharon," Kyle smiles, inching away from me as if he's worried what she might say about us sitting so close together. "I'm good, thanks."

"You look it," she returns the smile. "I'm going to make dinner now, are you boys hungry?"

"Yeah," I say. "Kyle?"

"I'm fine, but thank you," he insists.

"Kyle…" I say his name, urging him to change his answer.

My mom hovers uncomfortably in the doorway. "Let me know if you change your mind, sweetie."

Kyle nods. "I will." Once she's gone, he presses play on the movie and doesn't say anything else. Once the movie is over, I close my laptop.

"Kyle," I murmur his name.

"Don't say it, Stan," he sighs.

"Dinner!" I hear my mom call a moment later.

I stand up, putting my laptop back on my desk. "Kyle?" I ask. "Wanna come and try to eat something?"

He looks conflicted. I offer him my hand, which he takes, and I lead him downstairs.

"Hi, boys," Mom smiles at us as she sets the table. "Kyle?"

"He's gonna eat, too," I tell her.

"Wonderful," she says, looking pleased as she grabs an extra plate from the cupboard.

"Where's Shelly?" I ask.

"Out with the oldest McCormick boy," Mom says as we all sit down at the table.

"Oh," I snort. I still find it so weird that they're friends.

Kyle picks at the vegetables, eating a few and it reminds me or something I read about "negative calorie" foods. I have to bite the inside of my mouth to keep myself from saying anything.

After dinner, Kyle thanks my mother and announces that he needs to go home. I walk him to the door, feeling depressingly suspicious. "You okay?" I ask.

"Peachy," he insists. He slips his boots on and gives me a quick peck on the lips before leaving briskly. I frown and wander back into the kitchen to help my mom clean up.

"Is Kyle sick again?" she asks, looking upset.

"No," I mutter, before admitting, "hell… I don't know anymore, but he hasn't been eating as much and he made himself sick. I saw it happen a little while ago… It was awful."

"Poor boy," Mom says sadly.

"I'm always worried about him," I admit. "I mean, everyone is. I think it annoys him, but it's justified…"

"Aside from that, how is your relationship with him?" she asks. "You two were sitting awfully close."

I smile a small smile. "Yeah, it's slow but it's good. I think slow is best. I don't want to take things too fast."

"That's right," she agrees. "He's a very sweet boy…"

"But…?" I ask expectantly.

"But he's unwell. You should be prepared for the worst, Stanley," she warns gently.

"I am," I murmur. "Sheila said the same damn thing to me yesterday."

Mom nods. "I was speaking with her earlier before I went to work. She's very concerned about him. She didn't say why in detail, but with what you've said I understand now."

"I know," I say. I help my mom put away food and clear the table. I load the dish washer while she washes the pots. Nothing else is said about Kyle until the kitchen is spotless. "Do you think that being in a relationship is a bad idea for someone like Kyle?" I can't help but wonder.

"No, honey," Mom says, "you just need to be careful and be there for him when he needs you most. It might be difficult, but then again, all relationships are difficult. Some just have it a little harder than others. It's probably not going to hurt, but it's not going to help either."

I force a smile. "All right."

She smiles in return.

"How's… uh…" I pause, wanting to ask about Dad. "How're you?" I ask vaguely.

"I'm fine," she says. "I spoke with your father last night. He has an apartment just outside of town. He's still close."

"Okay," I say quietly. "Will we see him soon?"

"He thinks you hate him," Mom says.

"I don't," I murmur. "I was just angry when I yelled."

Mom nods. "I know, sweetie. That's what I told him… He might visit sometime soon."

"Good," I say. "Anyway, I'm going upstairs. I'm going to call Kyle and make sure he got home all right."

* * *

I pace around as I dial his number. I hear it ringing and a moment later, Kyle answers. "_Hello?" _comes his scratchy voice.

"Kyle…" I sigh his name into the receiver. "Did you puke when you got home?" I don't really know how to ask it gingerly, so I just ask it.

I hear him sigh, clearly irritated. "_I wanted to_," he admits, "_but I didn't_."

"Good…" I say, though I can't help but wonder if he's lying to me again.


	22. KM: This was not part of the plan

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Thanks for 200 reviews! **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

I am on my way to Craig's house. It's late on Saturday and I just picked my snuff film up from Stan. When I ring the doorbell, Ruby looks unimpressed to see me. "What the fuck happened the other night?" she snaps. "You dragged Craig out of the house, and then Stan brought him back. He was a mess."

"Was he?" I ask. I guess that means he must care. "That's why I'm here."

Her eyes narrow. "Fine." She allows me inside and I saunter upstairs into Craig's room. He's sitting on his laptop yet again, but once he notices me he slams it shut. I spot my parka on the floor by his bed, bending down to pick it up.

"What the fuck do you want?" he asks immediately. "I thought I made it pretty fucking clear that I want you to get the hell away from me."

"Open your laptop," I instruct. "I want to show you something."

He raises a brow, but does as I ask nonetheless. I sit down next to him as he opens it and I pull my camera and the connector cord out of my backpack.

"What the fuck's that for?" Craig gestures to the camera.

"You'll see," I tell him. I hook the camera up to his computer and open up the file. "Watch this, Craig. It's something that happened a little while ago, you just don't remember."

He gives me a look of disdain before I press play. In the video, I'm shouting and waving a gun around before pointing it at myself. I kill myself the way his mother killed herself and once again, Craig is seeing it all. This time, the memory won't go away… just like the memory of his mother. I watch his eyes go wide and his lips part in shock. "No…" is all he says. "No…"

"See, Craig?" I sigh, mildly frustrated. "I'm not going to leave you, even if I die."

"What the fuck is this?" he asks loudly. "What the fuck is this?" He looks wild eyed and afraid of what he's seeing. When the video is finished playing, he slams his laptop shut again and stares at me. "What the fuck _are_ you?"

"Human," I say simply.

"Get out…" he murmurs.

"What?" I raise an eyebrow. This is not part of the plan.

"Get out!" he shouts. "Get out, get out, get out! Get the fuck out!" He shoves his laptop off the bed and it falls onto the carpet. He grabs a fistful of his bed sheets and presses his face into them, as if he can't bear to look at me.

I relent, taking my camera, standing up and leaving the room. Maybe he just needs some time. When I descend the stairs, Ruby is waiting with arms crossed. "I heard screaming," she states.

"God damn, your brother is somethin' else," I mutter as I leave, not bothering to say another word to her.

* * *

At school on Monday, Clyde approaches me in the hallway and asks if he can talk to me. He looks worried. I can probably guess why.

"Sure, what's up?" I ask.

"Er, it's about Craig," he pauses, frowning. Yeah, I fuckin' knew it would be. "He called me the other night. He asked if I could come over… he never makes requests like that, so I thought it was a bit weird. I thought he might've been trying to pull another cruel stunt, but I went over nonetheless. I didn't bother knocking; I just walked in and went upstairs. Craig was sitting alone and looking like he was in shock or something. I mean, I asked a few times what happened but he wouldn't tell me. I think he just wanted to be with someone because clearly something scared the hell out of him… I stayed with him for most of the night, until he finally fell asleep. I think it was around 3 in the morning. He ended up taking a few sleeping pills after a while. He tries not to take that shit, but I guess he felt like he really needed to rest. Ruby was just getting home. She had a friend with her; I think they were coming home from a party… Anyway, she told me that you were there earlier and there was shouting and Stan brought him home…" Clyde pauses again and then sighs. "What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything," I say. "I just reiterated the fact that I wasn't going to leave him."

Clyde sighs once more. "Fine, I can tell I'm not going to get straight answers out of either of you… but honestly, dude. Whatever you did clearly lacked tact."

"It was the only option," I assure him. "He'll get over it, though. I promise you that." I pat Clyde on the shoulder and then make my way to English class.

Once I saunter inside, Kyle and Stan immediately ask me how Craig reacted to seeing the proof. "He kind of freaked out," I say.

"I suppose that's understandable," Kyle reasons. "I mean, if I didn't know about it already and I was seeing that video without the information I already have… I'd probably freak out, too."

"Yeah," I sigh. "I know."

"He probably needs time to process exactly what it was he saw," Stan adds.

I simply nod.

* * *

After English today, we had free period and now we have gym. It's a mandatory class and unfortunately, we all put off taking it until senior year. In the locker room, Kyle turns to face the wall and unbuttons his cardigan before pulling on a t-shirt. I caught him using one of the scales in the supply room earlier, but I didn't call him out. What right do I have? I'm not gonna tell Stan either. Stan's reaction would probably make things worse. Kyle simply stared down at the numbers and told me he gained four pounds. I said, "A hundred and nineteen pounds is fine." Then he left. Clearly he didn't agree with me.

I notice Stan watching him, but it's not in a perverted sort of way, it's more out of concern, as if he's trying to see if Kyle lost any weight. It doesn't look like he has. He looks perfectly normal. I give him a light tap in the shins with the toe of my sneaker and mouth, "_You're staring._"

Stan smiles sheepishly before glancing away and getting changed into his own gym gear. After we're ready for exercise, we exit the locker room and the teacher instructs us to run five laps around the gymnasium before meeting in the center of the room.

"Jesus Christ," Eric moans and pants. "I can't do it…"

"We've been running for all of two minutes," I deadpan. "You're fa-dumb," I add, almost letting the taboo F-word slip out.

"Very _fa-dumb_," Kyle agrees slowly, as if he knows what I was about to say. He gives me a humoured smile before running ahead. I don't know how he can do it. He's the one that smokes, yet he's the fastest of the bunch.

"Look at the little Jew run," Eric taunts. "What is this? The fuckin' –"

"Don't fucking say it," I warn, cutting him off. "Holocaust jokes aren't funny."

Stan wrinkles his nose at Eric before ditching us. He quickens his pace, catching up with Kyle while I stay behind with Tubby-Tits. Stan and Kyle finish their laps first while Eric and I are close to last. Oh, well. Once everyone is finished, the teacher announces us that we'll be playing dodge ball. The worst game ever.

"Ah, aaah," Eric moans dramatically, pressing his palm to his forehead. "You know what, teacher? I think I feel a headache coming on…"

"Can it," the teacher retorts, not buying his act for a second. "I'm going to give everyone a number. If you're a one, go to the right side. If you're a two, go to the left."

"Fucking Christ," Kyle murmurs. "This game shouldn't even be legal."

"Yeah," Stan agrees with a sigh.

Stan is a one, Kyle is a two, I'm a one and Eric is a two. We walk to the appropriate side and then the game begins. Lola gets Annie out first, and then proceeds to flip her off. Eric is the second person out. Stan succeeds in throwing the rubber ball right into his face.

"Fucker!" he shouts from across the room. He'll probably have a bit of a bruise later on.

"God damn," I mutter. The game continues until it's only Stan, Clyde, and I on side one and Bebe, Wendy and Kyle on side two. Side two has all the balls and we're all just waiting for the storm. Bebe, Wendy and Kyle all pick one and aim them at us.

Bang, bang, bang. And just like that, we lose.

"Well, thank fuck that's over," I mutter, nursing my wound.

Stan just laughs and Kyle adds, "Close game."

I swear the only reason teachers make us play this game is so they can watch us hurt ourselves and each other. Pretty sadistic!

Back in the locker rooms, we proceed to shower and put our day-clothes back on before continuing to lunch period. Kyle and Stan are laughing and whispering to each other and Eric just sneers at them. "Fuckin' gay, man, I swear…" he mutters.

I just smile. He probably has no idea how just right he is.

* * *

After noon classes are finished, I shove my textbooks into my locker and leave the school. Sitting outside on a nearby bench, I spot Craig. I wonder what he's doing here… When he notices me, he stands up and approaches. He's wearing that blue chullo hat, looking like he's probably hiding the fact that he hasn't showered in a couple days because his skin looks kinda moist. "Er, you okay?" I ask once we're standing face to face.

"Yeah, I know I look gross," he states, as if he's reading my mind.

I shrug, shoving my hands into my pocket. "I don't really care," I tell him, gesturing him to follow me as I begin to walk. He does so, and for a moment he says nothing. "So, you weren't in school today…" I mention.

"I'm rarely in school," he points out.

"I guess that's true." I pause. "So, did you need something?"

"I want an explanation," he says. "I know I didn't exactly give you time to speak last time you came to see me. I'll listen now. I've, uh, calmed down…"

"That's fine… I get that I probably surprised you," I reason. "It was a lot to take in, huh?"

"To say the least," he mutters.

"I'm human," I tell him. "I'm exceptionally ordinary apart from the fact that when I die, I come back to life."

He scoffs. "It sounds so fucking weird when you say it like that… You say it so simply."

"Yeah," I chuckle. "It's hardly simple. I barely understand it myself. I just kind of accept it."

"Who else knows?" he asks.

"Bebe, Stan, Kyle and Eric," I tell him. "Eric kind of always knew for some reason… But it took a lot of convincing to persuade Bebe, Stan and Kyle I wasn't lying. They do this little thing where they write themselves notes after I die so they will know it happened."

"I see," he murmurs slowly.

"Yeah, anyway, sorry you had to see that," I apologize.

"No, you're not." He lets out a sigh. "Why didn't you… just try explaining it to me first?"

I snort back a laugh. "Would you really have believed me? You probably would have told me to fuck off right away."

"Hm, probably," he admits.

"This way was easier…" I explain.

"You killed yourself the way my mother killed herself," Craig mentions. "Why did you do that?"

"I thought it'd make more of an impression on you," I admit. Yeah, it was a bit cruel on my part, but hey.

"Mean," he mutters.

"Yeah, I know… I'm sorry." We continue walking and eventually we reach Craig's street.

"Why did you do it?" he asks after many long moments of silence.

"I wanted to prove a point," I explain. "I wanted to show you that I'm not going to die. If we're together, it won't be tragic."

"Is this part of how you were able to act as a vigilante?" he wonders. "The town hero?"

"Yeah," I laugh, recalling my days as Mysterion.

We soon arrive in front of Craig's house and he bids me a farewell. "Well, bye," he says unceremoniously.

"You should start coming to school," I tell him. "You're probably doing pretty shitty. Don't you want to graduate with everyone else?"

"Believe it or not," he starts, "I'm passing all of my classes."

"What do you have? Straight D's?" I guess.

"C's," he shrugs before starting to walk up his driveway. "See you around, McCormick."


	23. KB: Stupid Stan

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**LOL again I apologize in advance for this chapter's events. Dun dun duuunnn. **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

I know everyone is suspicious, but I really haven't been lying. I've been eating and keeping food down. I've been good.

On another note, Stan finally shaved his beard off. I'm not one to enforce shaving, but it was pretty unpleasant to kiss him like that.

Speaking of Stan, I've lost him. Today is Saturday and we're at a party. He said he was going to get a drink, but he's been gone a while. I'm sitting here with Cartman, Kenny, Bebe and Clyde. They're all chattering away about things I don't care about. A minute later, Kal walks into the room and I ask her, "Did you see Stan?"

"Oh, yeah!" she nods her head a few times. "He was with Annie in the kitchen."

"Annie?" I frown. "What's he doing with her?"

"Maybe she wants a new conquest," Kal says with a shrug and a laugh. "She did look pretty damn determined…"

"Oh," I mutter. Well, Stan won't fall for any of that… Nonetheless, I leave the room. I find Stan and he doesn't look like he's been waiting for me. I watch him smile at Annie and I watch her move forward without hesitance. He doesn't protest when her lips near his and then they touch. I immediately turn around and I feel my heart sink. It feels like it's gonna fall out of my fuckin' ass. There's no way in hell I'm waiting to see what they do next. I push my way past the crowds of people. I guess I was fucking wrong. Though, for some reason, I'm not surprised. I half expected something like this to happen. Why would Stan Marsh, of all people, be in love with _me_?

"Ay!" Cartman snaps at me as I shove him.

When I get outside, I stop running and start hyperventilating. "Oh, God…"

"Kahl?" comes Cartman's voice. He must have followed me. "What the fuck?"

I close my eyes, trying to calm myself down. "Do you have your car?" I ask weakly.

"Uh, yeah…?" he says slowly.

"Take me home," I request.

"Why?" He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Take me home!" I demand frantically.

"Fine… Jesus fucking Christ, Jew," he mutters, gesturing for me to follow him. "What the hell is wrong with you tonight?"

"Nothing," I say. "I'm just not in the mood to socialize."

His eyes narrow and I can tell he doesn't believe me. "What did that fag Stan do?" he asks knowingly, digging out his car keys.

"Nothing," I tersely repeat myself, rubbing my forehead. "Fuck."

We get into Cartman's jeep and he drives me home while blasting "Heat of the Moment". I disdainfully thank him once we pull into my driveway and I open the door, only to immediately vomit on the pavement. I'm going to blame the alcohol. At least I didn't get any in Cartman's precious vehicle. He would have flayed me alive.

"Shit!" he yells loudly. "What the fuck are you doing, Jew?" He swings open his door and gets out, running to my side.

I hold out my hands and stare down at my puke-covered palms. Ew… "Ugh…" I whimper.

"Fucking gross! Sick!" Cartman shouts, grabbing my wrists and being careful not to touch the vomit. I can't disagree with that. It is pretty gross. He leads me up the stairs and in through the front door to my house. When we're inside, he doesn't bother announcing my arrival and I don't bother kicking off my shoes. No one seems to be home. Cartman ushers me up the stairs, practically carrying me into the bathroom. Inside, he instructs me to wash the mess off my hands. I spot him eying the photo documentation of my _anorexia_ with an unreadable expression. He disappears a moment later and I do as he's requested before snatching the photo and ripping it up. I toss it into the garbage and retreat to my room and doing the same to the photo on my wall. If I had a door, I would lock it. I pace for a few minutes while trying to figure out what to do with myself. I take off my shoes and my jacket and then throw it on the floor angrily, only to hang it up a minute later. I open my closet and change out of my day clothes, trading them in for sweatpants and a t-shirt. I am careful not to wear anything that once belonged to Stan. I sit in the center of my bed and Cartman walks in a few minutes later, holding a glass of water. I take it and down it.

"You're not gonna start crying, are yah?" he asks, making a face at the possibility.

"No!" I shout angrily, but I do anyway. Cartman rolls his eyes, giving me a few awkward slaps on the back and letting me lean against him.

"Stupid Jew-bitch," he mutters and I can't help but agree. Look at me… and I'm getting comforted by Cartman, of all people. "Well… this isn't fun," he states, disappointed at my lack of reaction.

"It's not supposed to be fucking fun," I grit.

He shrugs. "So, what the fuck happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I seethe. There are a number of reasons I don't want to talk about it. Cartman would probably laugh his ass off and use it against me. Or maybe not. Either way, I don't want to find out.

"Fine, fine," he relents.

"You can go back to the party," I say, stepping back and wiping my eyes. "If you see Kenny, tell him I went home sick or something."

"What about Stan?" he asks.

"Tell him to go fuck himself," I murmur.

He laughs boisterously. "Gotcha." He'll probably actually do it, too. Oh, well. I don't mind. Cartman lets himself out. I don't bother walking him to the door. It's still pretty early, but I decide to go to sleep anyway since I don't know what else to do and I'm too angry to think rationally about anything.

* * *

I stay home on Monday, not wanting to face Stan right away. I spend the majority of the day distracting myself with things I know I shouldn't be doing. It's Tuesday now and I can't keep trying to prevent the inevitable. I've successfully avoided him for the entire day. During free period, I hid in the back of the library and studied. During English, I arrived a little later than usual so I could sit in the front of the class. During lunch I went to the library again. I don't have any other classes with Stan and we don't have gym on Tuesdays. I go to my locker and collect the things I need, but I spot Stan running down the hallway towards me. I sigh and roll my eyes. Stupid asshole.

"Where've you been lately?" he asks.

"Around," I say vaguely.

"You've been avoiding me since Saturday night!" he exclaims.

"Yeah," I start. "Didn't Cartman deliver my message to you?"

"He did… What the hell was that all about?"

"I mean what I said," I assure him.

"Why?" he frowns. "I looked for you during free period and lunch. I messaged you like ten times. I even called your house, but your mom answered and told me you weren't up for visits."

"Oh, really?" I feign disinterest. I'm trying hard not to care, but if I truly didn't care then I wouldn't still be this angry.

He looks confused at my behaviour. "Yes, really!"

"Fuck off, Stan," I say evenly and Cartman arrives in the nick of time to hear me say it. He's smirking. Clearly, he's amused.

Stan raises an eyebrow. "What…?"

"I said _fuck off_, Stanley Randall Marsh," I repeat evenly before turning away.

Cartman cackles and I can hear him ask, "Damn, Marsh! What'yah do to him?"

"Nothing!" Stan exclaims.

I don't look back. I continue down the hallway and I leave the building. On the walk home I keep repeating the same words in my head.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan.

Fuck Stan!

When I get home, I'm awfully worked up. I decide to take a shower. The whole "no lock in the bathroom" deal is getting pretty annoying. Everyone just keeps walking in on me like it's no big fucking deal. I turn on the taps before quietly stripping down. I discard my clothing in a pile and step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade. I don't know how long I'm just standing here, but I hear the bathroom door creak open.

"Kyle?" It's Ike.

"What?" I ask, irritated because he keeps doing this. Every god damn day he's standing on the other side of the shower curtain making sure I'm _okay_.

"You okay?"

Called it.

"I'm fine," I airily inform him. "I'm showering."

"You showered this morning," he points out.

Did I? "Oh… I don't remember."

"You showered this morning," he says again. He turns the tap off and says. "Get out, Kyle."

I bite my bottom lip, trying to suppress the urge to say something hateful that I'll regret. I slowly pull back the curtain and Ike is standing with eyes closed, holding a towel in his hand. I take it from him and dry off. When I'm done, Ike has his eyes opened.

"You've been eating, right?" he asks.

"Yes!" I snap. I slap a hand on my bare gut to reiterate myself. Ike only frowns in response. With the towel wrapped around my waist, I collect my clothes and leave the bathroom. I retreat to my room, where I toss my dirty clothing in my hamper. I look down at myself – at my arms, my stomach, my hips, my legs and what hangs between them. I hate every bit of what I see.

I get dressed. I put on cotton sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. When I turn back around, Ike is sitting on my bed. "for fuck's sake!" I exclaim. "Why the fuck aren't you leaving me alone?"

"Kyle…" he murmurs. "Something happened, right?"

"No," I snap. "Nothing fucking happened. Get out. I have homework to do."

"It can wait…" he reasons.

"No, it can't," I insist.

"Kyle, what's wrong?" Ike asks gently. "Please... Talk to me."

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Nothing."

He asks again and again and again and I feel a lump form in my throat. I feel like I _need_ to tell him because he's trying so damn hard.

"Kyle…" he says my name once more.

I let out a deep breath. "Stan cheated…"

"What?" he looks shocked.

"Stan fucking cheated on me!" I yell. "I saw him kissing a girl!" Ike's eyes are wide and his lips are parted, as if he can't process what he's hearing. "I guess all he wanted to do was play around with me a bit," I mutter.

"Are… Are you sure you didn't misunderstand?" Ike asks.

"He was kissing Annie," I deadpan. "What else could that have meant?"

Ike shakes his head and admits, "I don't know… Maybe she initiated it and he got caught off guard?"

"I feel so fucking stupid," I whisper, sitting down next to him. "I trusted him… I don't know why."

"He's been your best friend since you were babies and you like him," Ike reasons. "Still, you only know half of the story. You should talk to him. It might not be what you think. He's your best friend after all and I really doubt he'd try and hurt you like that."

"I'm not fucking talking to him," I grit

Ike sighs. "Don't let your anger get the best of you, Kyle. You do it too often and it always screws you over."

I wrinkle my nose at him. "Shut up."

Ike smiles, looking mildly humoured. "What are you going to do now? Homework?"

"I'm going to work out," I say. "I can't concentrate on anything now. You pissed me off too much."

"Work out or _work out_?" he asks.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Please, be a _dear_ and explain to me what the fuck the difference is?" I cynically request.

"One involves you getting sick," he explains tartly.

I knew that. I close my eyes and say, "Don't worry so damn much. It's irritating." He looks like he wants to respond, but he shuts his mouth. Wise decision. I sit up and tell him I'm going to use the treadmill. He's probably going to time me.

I run downstairs and into the basement. I slip on my sneakers, tying the laces tightly before turning the machine on. I start slow, quickening my pace when I've warmed up. I run for an hour before stopping. I begin to feel nauseous. I've learned that passing out on the treadmill is a pretty shitty experience. I sit on the stairs for a few minutes and once I feel better, I go upstairs and drink a glass of water.

"Kyle, don't shower again," he says from his seat in the living room. "It's not healthy."

I wrinkly my nose. "But I'm all sweaty…"

He shrugs. "Who cares? Enjoy it."

"That's disgusting," I mutter.

He just laughs. "Rinse your face, then… but you don't need to shower. Fuck it."

"Fuck it?"

"Yeah, fuck it."

"All right," I relent. Just this once, I'll try. I sit down next to him on the sofa, watching him flick through channels. I feel restless, but I try to stay still.

* * *

Tweek once told me his therapist had some pretty strange ideas. She instructed her patients to strip off their clothing and stare at themselves in a mirror when they're alone. She told them to look at their flaws and the parts of their body they hate the most. "Did you ever try it?" I asked.

He nodded. "It's strange at first," he said, "but then you get used to it… you get used to yourself."

I thought that sounded nice, but the whole idea is fucking terrifying at the same time.


	24. SM: It's happening again

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Thanks for reviewing ~**

**Possibly triggering chapter? **

**Stan's POV**

* * *

I don't get it. I really don't get it. Kyle has been avoiding me like the fucking plague… but it's Wednesday now and we have gym. He can't keep avoiding me. "Dude," I call once I spot him entering the locker room.

"What?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Why are you acting like this?" I raise my voice in frustration.

He walks past me and begins changing. I shoot Kenny a look, but he just shrugs. I let out a groan, relenting for now. I change into my gym gear and leave the locker room with Kenny and the fat ass. Kyle exits a minute after we do and starts running laps behind us. He's slow today and it's probably because he doesn't want to be near me.

Once everyone is finished, the gym teacher puts us into teams to play soccer. Me and Kenny are on the opposite side of Cartman and Kyle, much to my dismay. Kyle looks like he's dizzy and only half conscious. "You good, Jew?" I hear Cartman ask him. Kyle only nods in response, but something is off. A moment later, he closes his eyes. There's a crease in his brow and he latches onto Cartman's shirt. Cartman doesn't shake him off. Instead, he puts a hand on Kyle's forehead.

Me and Kenny share a look before approaching them. "Kyle, what's wrong?" I ask frantically.

"Sh…" he murmurs, letting go of Cartman. He opens his eyes and takes a few steps away.

"Kyle… you don't look so hot," Kenny says. "You might wanna –" Before he can finish the sentence, Kyle's eyes roll back in his skull and he falls face first onto the floor.

"SHIT!" I shout, kneeling down and rolling him over. I press my ear to his chest to make sure he's still breathing and stuff. Fortunately, he is.

The gym teacher shovels through the crowd of students who are now surrounding us and shouts, "Someone call the damned ambulance! I know someone's got a fucking cellphone hiding in their pocket. The rest of you, get the fuck out of here and give the boy some damn space!"

Bebe unzips her sweater pocket and pulls out her phone, dialling 911. "Hi, please send an ambulance to South Park High! We're in the gym… Please hurry!"

The coach forces everyone out of the gymnasium apart from me, Kenny and Cartman. When the paramedics finally arrive, they check Kyle's vitals and then put him onto a stretcher. I run after them, pleading to ride in the back of the ambulance with Kyle.

"Are you family?" one of them asks.

"I'm his fucking boyfriend!" I snap and they let me on. The ride seems to take long, even though I know it's only a few minutes.

"What's his medical history?" they ask.

"He had an eating disorder," I murmur. "He was severely underweight… Recently, it's gotten bad again. He's made himself sick a few times."

They sympathetically nod along to what I'm saying and when we arrive to Hells Pass, they wheel him in. I'm forced to sit in the waiting room, where I call Sheila. Naturally, she's frantic. She arrives at the hospital mere minutes after I call her.

"What happened?" she demands.

I give her as much of the story as I know. "He's going to be fine," I tell her.

"Yes," she agrees weakly. "He's going to be just fine."

Kenny and Cartman meet us here a little while later, followed by Bebe and Wendy. Sheila thanks them all for coming and assures them that Kyle will be pleased to know they were thinking of him.

Soon, a doctor arrives and tells us that Kyle passed out because he was hungry. It's happening again.

They let me and Sheila in to see him first. So, here he is, just like three years ago, with a god damn feeding tube in his nose. He looks paler than usual in that blue hospital gown. Sheila reaches forward and touches his cheek. "I called Gerald," she says softly. "He didn't answer. He's in a meeting."

"I'm sorry," I murmur.

"Is this my fault?" she asks, looking at me. "Do you really think I did this to him?"

"No," I say, though I'm really not sure. Either way, she means well. It was stupid of me to pass the blame. Kyle was right about that. "It was probably lots of stuff."

She nods, looking exhausted.

"When will he wake up?" I ask, glancing at the doctor.

"Shortly," he promises.

* * *

True to his words, Kyle wakes up soon and Sheila allows everyone else into the room before I have a chance to speak with him one on one. Everyone has big, fake smiles on their face when they enter the room.

"Hi, Kyle," Bebe says with a grin.

He forces one in return. "Hi."

She leans forward and pecks his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Shitty," he admits.

"I'm sorry," she frowns.

"Don't be," he murmurs. "My fault, remember? I'm dumb."

Kenny's eyes are swimming and no one is smiling. It's probably too hard to keep faking. Cartman has his arms crossed. He probably feels pretty damn awkward. He kind of sucks with this stuff because he's too much of an asshole… He cares, though. It's obvious he cares. He just feels like he can't show it, or maybe he doesn't know how.

The entire visit proceeds to be pretty uncomfortable. Kyle's blunt and unrepressed sour attitude makes it so. Bebe is the first one to leave, followed by Wendy. Cartman ditches after them and Kenny runs off without a word. He's probably upset. Now it's just me and Kyle, apart from his mom who doesn't look like she's going to be leaving any time soon.

"Sheila…" I murmur her name.

She takes the hint. "I'll be outside," she says softly.

"Thanks," I nod. Once she's gone I turn to Kyle and ask, "What happened?"

"Don't pretend you have no idea what's going on, _Marsh_," he snaps.

"I don't!" I exclaim.

"You do," he insists.

"What about the pictures?" I ask desperately. "I thought you said they helped you!"

"I was trying!" he shouts. "For _you_, I was fucking trying!" He lets out an angry sob and rubs his hands over his forehead. "Clearly, I'm not good enough… but maybe that's where it all went wrong. I shouldn't be trying for _you_. I should be trying for _me_!"

"What are you on about?" I ask him. "Kyle, please… I don't know what I did wrong."

"Think back to the last party we went to," he says tersely. "I saw you kissing Annie…! So, you know what? Fuck you, Stan! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!"

"You stopped eating again…" I murmur, "Because of me?"

"It's not a fucking choice, Stan! I'm not trying to be crazy and selfish and stupid, I can't fucking help it!" he screams at me. "I bet you weren't even gonna fucking tell me! Bullshit! I deserve more than this, don't I?"

"I'm sorry," I nearly choke, knowing it won't make a difference now. It doesn't really matter what I say. It won't change a damn thing.

He doesn't answer. He remains tight lipped, looking off to the side and as far away from me as he can get. A doctor runs in a moment later, having probably heard the shouting. I'm forced to leave before I can even explain myself. Well, fuck. Now I get it. Kyle wasn't supposed to see that. It was supposed to happen. I pushed Annie away a split second after she moved in on me. I told her I was taken… I swear it wasn't supposed to fucking happen. Fuck. Ike is going to kill me. And Sheila is going to torture me beforehand if she finds out I hurt one of her babies. I stomp out of the room and see Sheila in the waiting room filling up a cup of coffee.

"Stanley?" she says my name in a questioning tone.

"He got angry at me," I sigh. "I'm going home…" I continue past the waiting room and leave the hospital. I take the bus home and let my sour mood permeate for the remainder of the day.

* * *

On Thursday, I visit him again in hopes that he'll be in a better mood. When I arrive, his family is with him as well as Bebe, Clyde and Tweek. Kyle is eating a pudding cup, looking like he's only half listening to what everyone is chatting about. When I enter the room, everyone except for Kyle greets me. Nonetheless, I smile and wave hello. He must get a lot of visitors, because there are flowers and cards and all kinds of shit sitting on the little table in the corner of his room. He's only been here a day! People love him, even if he doesn't really see it.

"At school today, Butters got kicked in the nuts three times by Scott Malkinson," Clyde says to Kyle.

Kyle smiles faintly. "Was he making fun of his diabetes again?"

Clyde chuckles and nods.

"Then it was probably deserved," Kyle says.

"Probably," Clyde agrees.

They all continue talking while I sit and listen in silence until they announce their departure. After Bebe and Clyde leave, Tweek follows. Sheila and Gerald knowingly step out of the room and Ike mouths, "_I'm watching you_," as he exits after them.

"Kyle," I say.

"Stan," he replies. At least he's no longer calling me by my surname.

"Can I talk now?" I ask.

"Yeah, you can talk now," he says. "I've calmed down."

"I didn't think Annie was going to kiss me," I swear. "I was just being friendly by talking to her."

"Why were you being nice to her?" he asks. "She's not a nice person. She hurt Lola."

"That was Craig's fault, too," I murmur, "and Kenny is still trying to fuckin' court him."

Kyle lets out a sigh. "Let's not get into this."

"But I want you to know I didn't mean for it to happen…" I say in a thick voice. I feel myself growing emotional and I feel like I might cry at any second. As if Kyle senses this, he rolls his eyes and holds out his hand. I take it, sitting down next to him. "I'm sorry," I apologize. "I'm really sorry… You're not selfish or crazy or stupid. You're none of those things. I'm sorry… You do deserve better."

For a minute, he doesn't say anything. He doesn't smile, either. His face remains blank and he simply stares into my eyes, as if he's trying to determine whether or not I'm being sincere. "Okay," he finally says, wrapping his arms around me.

I breathe a sigh of relief, holding him closer.

"But Stan?" he starts again. "I don't think we should be together."

"What?" I ask. "Why?"

"For reasons such as these."

"Fine," I whisper. Maybe, for now, it _is_ for the best that we aren't together.

"It shouldn't've hurt as much as it did," Kyle reasons with himself. "I saw you kiss her and I felt like I was dying. I couldn't even think rationally I was so distraught… Ike tried to explain that it probably wasn't what I thought it was, but I wouldn't listen. In the end, he was right…"

I like to think this means he loves me, but if he doesn't want to be with me, maybe I'm just being hopeful. "Oh," I say weakly.

I finally let go of him and he moves away, sitting against the pillow propped up behind him. He offers me a smile and adds, "Someday, maybe… but not now. I'm not asking you to wait or anything…"

I frown. It hurts because I really _do_ love him. "Is breaking up really going to fix anything?" I wonder.

"I don't know," he says. "We'll see… but for now, I should concentrate on me, right?"

"Yeah…" I let out a quiet sigh. "How did you hide it for so long? I ask myself every fucking day how you managed to get so small all those years back…"

He gives me a tired looking smile. "Wear baggy clothing, puke in the shower or with taps running so you're less likely to be heard, chew gum after puking, or chew on mint leaves," he starts listing things off. "I'd make a lunch to bring to school. I'd make sure my mom saw me making it… and when I got to school, I'd just throw it out or give it away. I'd eat negative calorie foods or _safe_ foods so I wouldn't faint all the time, though I still slipped up a few times. During supper I'd move my food around on my plate an awful lot to give them the illusion that I was eating it. I'd do it around you as well. I'd make sure to leave granola bar wrappers in the garbage in my bedroom. I'd wear warm clothing to keep my temperature normal. I'd make sure to be seen bringing empty plates into the kitchen with visible crumbs…"

"Fuck," I mutter as the list grows.

"I'd compliment my mom on dinner," he continues, "I exercised a lot and a many people don't realize that's a symptom of an eating disorder. My parents just assumed I was trying to get in shape…"

"Fuck," I say again.

"Hm," he muses. "Will I ever recover completely? No. It's probably not possible. Sure, there's physical damage, but it's something that is always there in my head, too."

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Me too, Stan."

"You're my best friend," I tell him.

"And you're mine."

"Always?" I ask.

"Yes, always," he promises.


	25. KM: About relapsing

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

It's been a strange week so far. Kyle and Stan had a falling out on the weekend, by the looks of things. I haven't yet asked Stan about what happened, but I know whatever it was had bad consequences. Stan is pretty dumb when it comes to school and when it comes to people. He does things he really shouldn't because he just doesn't understand why it's as bad as it is. He always needs to learn the hard way.

I hated seeing Kyle like that again. I went home and cried like a bitch. I'm not typically a crier but I'm really emotional these days. Karen didn't say anything about it. She just sat with me until I stopped. She probably knew it was something bad. I don't want Kyle to end up emaciated again.

It's Thursday. I skipped out on school and decided to sleep instead. Evening is approaching, so I'm on my way to Craig's house. I haven't seen him since I told him about my deaths. He didn't seem as cold. I still don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Knowing Craig, it could be either. Maybe this is just another one of his awful games. I guess it's my fault for starting it… I really had no idea what I'd be getting myself into.

Once I arrive on his doorstep, I ring the bell twice. Craig answers a moment later, looking exhausted. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," I echo.

"Come in," he adds, and I immediately notice the braces.

"You should've got rainbow elastics, dude." But I guess that's not his style. He likes to keep things plain.

He rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind me. "You okay?" he asks as I take off my boots.

"Fine…" I murmur.

"Clyde told me about Kyle…" he says slowly.

"Fucking… fuck," I mutter. "I didn't…" I trail off, voice cracking. I clear my throat and continue, "I didn't see it coming. None of us did… even though there were signs. We're just so fucking stupid. I don't know why we all keep pretending that this isn't going to keep happening."

"Maybe it won't," Craig suggests. "Relapse is normal, but it doesn't mean it's going to keep happening forever and always. Everyone is different."

I let out a sigh. "I know…" I murmur. "Are you speaking from experience?"

"In a way, maybe," he shrugs, quick to change the subject. I'll pry later. "Anyway, I'm making breakfast."

"It's almost dinner time, though," I note.

"I just woke up a half an hour ago," he admits.

"When did you fall asleep?" I ask, remembering his insomnia.

"Around six in the morning…" He wrinkles his nose. I follow him into the kitchen, where he offers, "Do you want anything?"

"Sure," I say. "Make me a grilled cheese sandwich."

He snorts back a laugh. "All right."

And a little while later, he sets it in front of me. I remove my hood and grin, "Thanks." Craig makes himself a sandwich as well.

"Do they hurt?" I ask.

"The braces?" he questions and I nod. "Yeah, they kind of do… They gave me a special toothbrush to clean them with. They're high maintenance."

"Just like you," I add before I can stop myself.

He wrinkles his nose at me again and a minute later, Thomas Tucker walks in. "Hi, Dad," Craig says in a strangely soft voice.

"Hn," Thomas Tucker grunts, barely acknowledging his son. How sad. Craig doesn't look phased. He's probably used to it. That's even sadder.

After we eat, Craig invites me up to his room. I stare at his bed, recalling the last time I was here. I was forced to see him get fucked by someone who wasn't me.

"I…" Craig trails off, as if he knows what I'm thinking. He looks like he wants to say sorry, but it's probably a word he's never genuinely said before.

"It's fine," I tell him, not wanting to cause him any distress. "I'll get over it." He simply nods, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. I do the same and I request, "Can you tell me about it?"

"About what?" he asks.

"Relapsing," I specify. "You spoke like you understood…"

He looks thoughtful for a moment before speaking. "I tried to kill myself four times," he reveals evenly. "Sometimes I was okay, but other times..."

That surprises me. "What…?" I gasp. "Why would you do that?"

"I was fucking miserable," he states. "I saw something I couldn't unsee, no matter how hard I wanted to. For a long time, it was in the front of my mind. Sometimes it finds its way back and I can't make it go away until the memories run their course. It's numbing."

"Oh," I say softly. "How did it happen?"

"I was drunk the first time," he starts. "I was only thirteen. I was so unbelievably drunk. I remember calling Clyde and telling him goodbye. Stupid of me… He knew I was wasted and I guess he could read between the lines of what I was saying to him. He started shouting at me not to do anything bad, but I hung up. I was sitting alone in my room, holding a butcher knife against my wrist. It's supposed to hurt a lot, right? I thought that… if I was drunk, then maybe it would hurt a little less and it would give me courage to go through with it."

"But it didn't?" I assume.

"I think I eventually would have," he says, "but I hesitated and the next thing I knew, Clyde was barging into my room in tears. I think I cried, too. He took the knife away from me and we both went to bed. He stayed the night. He was there when I woke up. He didn't leave me side for the next week."

"Jeez," I whisper. This must be another reason why Clyde is always so forgiving when it comes to Craig. He knows about the bad stuff… the _really_ bad stuff.

"For a short time, I felt okay, but then it all came back. The second time happened when I was still thirteen. I stole the cabinet key and took one of my dad's guns. I hid it under my pillow and when I finally gathered the courage to take it out and pull the trigger I realized there were no bullets in it." He lets out a bitter laugh. "If I loaded it beforehand… then I would have succeeded just like my mom… but I didn't check and I couldn't find it in me to do it again. Fucking stupid… I was so angry at myself."

I give him a sympathetic look. "You're not stupid."

"I just kept fucking up and it was seriously starting to piss me off," he says. "The third time, I was fourteen. I think I had _just_ turned fourteen. It might've been the day of my birthday, or maybe the day after… but I decided it would be fitting. I was sure I was home alone. I was in the bath, just sitting there and thinking. I wasn't even thinking about dying but..." he trails off, shaking his head. "I tried. Again, I fucking tried."

"To drown yourself?" I murmur.

He nods.

"What happened, then?" I ask.

He smiles a cold smile. "Ruby was home after all. When I regained consciousness, I was lying on the tiles – naked and wet. Ruby was hovering over me, crying and pounding on my chest as I choked out the water I inhaled. She dragged my body out of the tub and brought me back. She makes it a habit to check on me every so often… and I guess she got scared when I didn't answer her. Nonetheless, I didn't thank her for saving me."

"She probably didn't expect you to," I say.

"You're probably right," Craig agrees before continuing. "The last time happened a few weeks after that. It was past midnight. I tied a noose in the kitchen, but my father ended up finding me. He slapped me so damn hard I thought I was going blind. Then he took the rope and told me to go to bed… so I did… or, I tried. I was too upset to actually get any sleep. I think I just cried the entire night. I wasn't even quiet about it. Pathetic, huh?"

"Jesus Christ," I mutter.

"He must care, right?" Craig asks. There's something so fucking hopeful in his tone and it makes my heart ache for him. "I mean… If he didn't care, then he would've let me. He probably cares…"

"Yeah," I force a smile. "I'm sure he does."

"Anyway," he sighs, "that was the last time I tried. I haven't since… I mean, if I haven't succeeded, then I should probably stop trying. Clearly, _somebody_ wants me here."

"Lots of people want you here," I say to him. "Your friends, your family… and me. I want you here."

"I get that now," he murmurs. "So… do you want to talk about Kyle?"

I shake my head. I can feel myself choking up again. I don't want to talk about Kyle. I don't even want to think about Kyle, so instead, I request, "Let's play the game."

"The game?" he repeats in question.

I nod. "I'll ask you questions," I say wetly, trying to suppress myself. "You have to answer them, okay?"

"Okay," he says in a strangely gentle voice. He leans backwards, onto a pillow and I lie down next to him. "Kenny…?" he mumbles my name in a piteous tone as my eyes start leaking.

"Who's your favourite superhero?" I ask, trying to lighten up the conversation so I won't be forced to think about bad shit anymore. I wipe my eyes and say, "Mine's Batman."

"Hm… Mine is you."

I let out a laugh that sounds more like a sob.

Craig shifts on the bed, moving closer and putting a hand on my cheek. "It's okay," he says. "It's going to be okay…"

"Yeah," I choke out.

He leans in, hesitating for a moment before lightly pressing his lips to mine. It's quick, but we're both smiling when he draws back.

"Tell me the things I did wrong," I say. I don't want to keep hurting him.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he murmurs. "You did everything right."

And maybe that's the part that scared him most.

* * *

I return home late in the evening and I feel much lighter. It's probably for a number of reasons, but it's all thanks to Craig. He offered me a lot by revealing a lot. Now, I decide to finally call Stan and ask him about exactly what happened.

"_Hello?"_ he answers.

"Hey, it's me," I say, knowing he'll recognize my voice.

"_What's up?"_ he asks.

"I was going to ask you that," I tell him. "Why is Kyle in a hospital and why are you two acting so cold to one another?"

"_We're okay now, but_… _fuck I messed up_," I hear him sigh before he continues, "_Remember the party we went to on the weekend? Well, I went to get a drink, but Annie caught me. She started talking and I didn't exactly want to push her away or be mean, so I chatted with her for a bit_…"

"Oh, Christ," I mutter, having a strong feeling about where this story is headed.

Stan groans. "_Ugh, I didn't mean for it to happen, but she kissed me and I guess Kyle saw it happen. He came to look for me. I pushed her away, but… still, it happened. I can't exactly pretend it didn't and I definitely can't take it back."_

"Yeah, you kind of fucked that up," I say. "You should have immediately told him what happened. Were you just going to keep pretending?"

"_Yeah_," he admits shamefully. "_I didn't think telling Kyle about it would have been the best idea. I mean, we all know he's emotionally volatile. I didn't know how he'd take it… so I thought that if I just ignored it and moved on, it wouldn't matter_."

"That's fucking stupid, dude," I tell him. "Don't you have any respect for him? You need to be honest. Lying is just showing blatant disrespect towards him. He can handle it, dude. He's a survivor."

"_I know that now_," he says sadly. "_I just ended up making it all a hundred times worse… He forgave me, but he also dumped me yesterday_."

"Ah, fuck," I feel myself frown. "I'm really sorry…" Any fool can see that Stan loves Kyle more than life itself, but I can definitely sympathize with him. Stan is just… a bit of an idiot. His heart is in the right place, but he's dumb as a rock.

"_Me too_," he murmurs, "_but I guess I understand why he did it… Anyway, enough about that. How's things with Craig?" _

"Better," I tell him. "We spoke today. He told me about some important things. He gave me reassurance. He was… well… really fucking nice. It was strange. I almost want to doubt him and convince myself that he's building me up just to break me down again, but it feels different this time. He felt genuine and I don't think Craig is a good enough actor to be able to fake that."

"_I'm happy for you, Kenny_," Stan says, "_and if Craig fucks up again, I'll beat him up_."

"Okay," I chuckle. "You know, Stan, if you really do love Kyle and if he loves you, then you shouldn't give up just yet."

"_Really_?" he wonders.

"Really," I insist. "I mean, look at me. I'm pretty fucking persistent. I think it's starting to work in my favour. I'm not saying you need to be up Kyle's ass all the time, but give him something to think about. Okay?"

"_Okay_," he agrees.

"Anyway," I add, "I'm tired, so I'm going to hit the hay."

"_Okay. Goodnight!_"

"G'night," I say before hanging up. I put my cellphone next to my mattress and strip down to my boxers. I turn into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and Karen walks in a moment later to do the same.

"So," she starts, putting toothpaste on her toothbrush, "You're happier today."

"I am," I say, a mouthful of white foam dripping onto my chin.

"That's good," she smiles at me through the mirror before brushing her own teeth. We take turns rotating and spitting in the sink and when we're both done, she adds, "So, does Craig wanna be your boyfriend or something?"

"Or something," I say. "We didn't really talk about it, but I know he's into me and there's no longer the fear that I'll drop dead."

"Well, congrats," she laughs as she exits the bathroom.

Once she's gone, I take a piss, wash my hands, rinse my face, and then retreat to my own room.

Goodnight, world.


	26. SM: Turds in love

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Thanks for so many nice reviews! **

**Stan's POV**

* * *

Soon enough Kyle's eating disorder will once again been forgotten by the majority of the people surrounding him. I'm not so sure it's a good thing. I hope his parents aren't going to keep acting so naïve. I know I won't. We can't just erase things. It won't make life any easier. If anything, it'll just screw everything up.

His birthday just passed. It went by silently. All we did was hang out in his hospital room, since he's not a fan of celebrations. He's eighteen now. A legal adult. A man.

Even though we've broken up, I've been spending a lot of time with him. I want him to know that just because we aren't romancing it up; it doesn't mean I don't want to still be his best friend. I'll always want to be his best friend… and maybe I'll always want to be more than that, but it's okay for now. I'll tell him again someday. If he says no, I won't do it again. It's all up to him. I won't push him. I won't pressure him. If it happens, I want it to be real and I want it to be on his terms.

Kyle still isn't at school the next day since he's still being monitored by doctors, much to his dismay. I think we all know where this is headed. I think he knows, too. His parents will probably start talking about institutionalization soon enough and he's going to fucking hate it.

When I get home, my dad is sitting in the living room with my mom and sister. Great fucking timing. "You're here," is all I say. I didn't expect it, to be honest.

"I am," he replies.

"Stanley," my mom cuts in. "Why don't you sit down so we can all talk."

I roll my eyes, but nonetheless, I do as she asks. The visit proves to be mildly awkward, but I'm glad he finally decided to show up.

"Your mother told me about Kyle," he says, probably trying to have a more meaningful conversation.

"So?" I mutter. "We broke up."

"Wait… what?" he asks. "I was talking about his trip to the hospital."

"Oh, right…" I say. "Oops."

Shelly rolls her eyes. "Turds in love. How romantic."

"Shut up," I retort before repeating, "We broke up…" No one questions it, probably because I look so miserable and pathetic. It's obvious who did the dumping.

The rest of the night goes smoothly and it feels the way things always felt. Maybe it won't be so fucking bad having my parents separate. Maybe it's for the best. If we can keep at least this amount of normalcy, I think I'll be able to handle it.

* * *

The following day, Kyle is allowed to leave the hospital. I skip out on school and go with Gerald and Sheila to pick him up. They don't chide me for missing classes.

At the hospital, Kyle looks himself. He's wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He holds up a hand when he spots us and offers a small smile. As his parents talk with a doctor, he turns to me and says, "You came."

"Yeah," I tell him. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine," he says with a shrug. "Just tired, mostly."

"Understandable," I say.

"So, what's been going on in the outside world these past couple days?" he asks.

"Nothing exciting. My dad came for a visit yesterday," I reveal.

"How'd that go?" Kyle asks.

"I don't know," I murmur. "I'm hoping it won't just be a one-time thing like the last time my parents got separated."

"Yeah," he sympathizes.

"So…" I pause, unsure how to word what I want to ask.

He smiles warily. "They're putting me on Xanax."

"Xanax…?" I frown.

"For the anxiety," he explains distastefully.

"That's some serious shit…"

"Yeah… but the doctors think it's for the best," he reasons. I don't bother trying to tell him that sometimes doctors are very fucking wrong. "It won't be forever, though…" he continues, "and I'll keep seeing my therapist so he can monitor me and watch for anything bad."

"Good," I murmur. "What could happen?"

"Some side effects are to be expected – like impulsive behaviour, fatigue, changes in libido, speech slurring," he starts. "Aggression and mania could also happen… but that's not likely."

"Christ," I frown.

His parents finish talking to the doctor a few minutes later and the four of us leave the hospital. On the way back, we stop at a pharmacy and Sheila goes in to pick up Kyle's prescription. La dee da. I end up back at the Broflovski residence, not bothering to attend my last classes. Me and Kyle go upstairs, where he decides to pop one of them pills. I pick up the prescription bottle and read the label –

BROFLOVSKI, KYLE

TAKE 1 TABLET BY MOUTH ONCE A DAY

"Jeez," I say quietly. I'm not really sure how I feel about him taking this shit. I just hope it works and helps him cope while he's in therapy. I hope he won't have to take them for a long time because prescriptions like this can be bad if you're on them for a long time. Dependence can happen and I don't think he needs that. He has a lot on his plate as it is.

"Adverse effects aren't likely, so stop worrying, Stan," he says, taking the bottle from me and setting it neatly in the drawer of his nightstand.

"I'll try not to," I promise him.

"And… don't tell anyone I'm taking these," he requests. "They'll just think I'm mental."

"No, they wouldn't," I say, but nonetheless I agree not to tell. "I'll keep quiet."

"Thanks," he murmurs.

We settle on Kyle's bed and end up watching a movie on his laptop. Though, I don't think either of us is paying attention. Our minds are wandering, I can tell, even though we're talking about the most unimportant things. Soon enough, Kyle is groggy. He says it's because of the pills and he tells me not to worry yet again but I can't fucking help it.

"Kyle?" I say his name in a questioning tone.

"What?" he asks.

"Do you…" I pause, trying to gather my thoughts. "Do you think we'll ever get back together?"

He wrinkles his nose, causing me to frown slightly. "I don't fuckin' know, Stan… Why?"

I shrug. I'm just being selfish, I guess. I want to be near him and all that shit, but I also want to put a label on it for my own sake. Then I won't feel so fucking insecure. I just want him to want me in return. I need this sort of validation. I wish I didn't, though. It's kind of pathetic.

"Do you want to?" he asks. He's not looking at me. He's staring straight ahead at his laptop screen.

"Yeah," I admit quietly.

He softens and he closes his eyes. "I need time," he whispers. "I wish I could tell you how much, but I can't because I don't know yet. It could be a month, it could be six. It could be a year. I don't want to make you wait. It's not fair… So… just…" He pauses, opening his eyes and finally turning his head to face me. "Do what you want, Stan. Don't let me stand in the way of your happiness. Try and move on."

"Easier said than done," I mutter.

He smiles sympathetically. "Try, at least."

"Fine," I say, but I know it won't make a damn difference. This feeling is different. It's new. It's not quite the same as what I felt for Wendy. I can't explain it, but I have a strong sense that it isn't going anywhere.

Kyle turns away, staring back at his laptop. I do the same and watch the movie play on. Neither of us say another damn word and for the first time ever, the silence isn't quite comfortable.

* * *

Once the movie is finished, Kyle shuts his laptop and reaches into his nightstand, pulling out a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. He opens it and takes one out, putting it between his lips before grabbing a lighter and lighting it.

"How much of those damn things do you smoke now?" I ask.

He shrugs, exhaling in my face and causing me to cringe. "Sorry," he snickers before adding, "Probably like a pack a day…"

"How many cigarettes are in a package?"

"Twenty."

"Damn," I say. "That's a lot."

"Not really," he insists. "My aunt Flo used to smoke two packs a day before she croaked."

"That's really fucking gross," I murmur. "You do realize your teeth are going to go all yellow and shit, don't you?"

He laughs, rolling his eyes at me. Smoke escapes his lips and nose in the process. "You're cute, Stan," he says to me.

I raise an eyebrow, wondering where that came from. "Huh? Are you being patronizing?"

"A bit," he admits lightly.

"What'll your mom do if she comes upstairs and sees you with a fucking cigarette between your fingers?" I ask. "She'll probably cut your hand off."

He shakes his head. "She wouldn't do a damn thing. She might try to gently tell me about the negative effect it'd have on my health, but she wouldn't do much more than that."

"How can you be so sure?" I wonder.

"Because," he starts, "she saw me smoking the night before I passed out at school. I heard her coming up the stairs. I tried to put it out and hide it before she could see, but it was too late. It fucking sucks not having a door."

Oh, wow. "Seriously? What did she say?"

He shrugs, tapping the cigarette and letting the ash fall into the tray on his nightstand. "She was disappointed. She didn't say it, but I could fucking tell. I'm sure she knew before now. I mean, you can smell it on me, right? But you know how my mom is... she likes to feign ignorance until the proof is right in front of her face. So, she looked at me and she told me she wanted me to care more about my health… but honestly, I'm too scared to quit."

"But why?" I ask. "You'll be healthier. You'll feel better. Just because you can run fast it doesn't mean shit. If you're smoking this much, you're health is just going to decline and soon you'll be out of breath after going up a damn hill."

"Did you know," he starts, "that you can gain weight if you quit smoking?"

Well, now it makes sense. This is why he won't quit. "Oh," is all I say. I didn't know that.

He takes one last puff before smothering the cigarette in the ash tray. "I don't want to gain weight," he says.

"Can't it be prevented?" I try to reason.

He shrugs. "Maybe," he says, "but there's no guarantee. Everyone is different."

"Can't you try?" I ask. "Please?"

"Why's it so important?" he asks. "Even if I get cancer or something, it won't happen yet."

"It could…"

"It's not likely," he snorts.

"You're being unrealistically optimistic… Come on, Kyle, you're smarter than this," I say.

He just rolls his eyes at me, not wanting to hear what I have to tell him. He reaches for another cigarette, but I stop him. I grab the package from him and open it. There are three left. I take one out and grab Kyle's lighter. "What the fuck are you doing?" he asks. Christ, he's moody today. He's moody often, though.

I put the cigarette between my lips and then flick the lighter. Once I see the little flame, I let it near the end of the cigarette and inhale. I feel the need to cough, but I suppress it. Gross! I haven't touched a cigarette since that time when we were kids and accidentally burned down the elementary school.

"Stan, what the fuck?" Kyle snaps.

I close my eyes and let the smoke leave through my nose. "I just wanna see what the fucking fuss is all about," I say, opening my eyes.

"I did coke once," Kyle snaps. "Wanna try that, too?"

"When the hell did you do cocaine?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him. I fucking hate drugs. I mean it. I think they're disgusting and I hate the thought of Kyle doing them. It's just not right. They don't suit him.

"I did it with Tweek when we were fifteen," he says unceremoniously. "It was a one-time thing."

"I'd fucking hope so," I murmur. I take another puff. God, this is awful.

Kyle laughs at me. "I can sense your distaste." He takes the cigarette from me and places it between his lips, inhaling and looking satisfied. He sighs, blowing the smoke up and away from me.

"You're in an odd mood today," I say. I'm not sure if it's the drugs or because he's still angry about his most recent trip to the hospital and trying to compensate by pretending not to care. I don't really know a damn thing about Xanax. I just know kids used to do it for fun. Craig was pretty into it when we were little, but I think he dropped the habit. I guess I should probably do a little reading when I get home. I don't really want that to happen to Kyle.

Kyle just smiles at me. He ashes the cigarette in the tray before holding it in front of his face and examining it as if he's examining a piece of fine art.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

Suddenly, he frowns and before I can stop him, he puts the cigarette out on his forearm.

"Kyle!" I gasp, too shocked to budge an inch. Everything slows down and it's quiet until Kyle finally lets out a shout. The sound leaves his mouth like a string of pained sobs and I move forward, grabbing the crumpled cigarette from his fingers. I put it in the ash tray and wrap my hands around Kyle's forearm. "Fucking hell…" I whisper, staring down. It doesn't look that bad, but clearly it hurt. On the school ground, this used to be one of the biggest dares. All the tough kids and the stoners would put cigarettes out on their arms. I always thought that was pretty stupid.

I hear Sheila marching up the stairs. "What happened?" she demands upon entering her son's room.

"Kyle… burned himself," I say, not bothering to specify that it wasn't an accident. I don't know if she'll read into it and ask. "I'll take care of it for him," I tell her, knowing he probably won't want her to question what happened.

"Okay," she says softly, looking piteous. "There's a first aid kit under the sink in the bathroom. Clean the cut first."

I nod and Sheila leaves, probably against her will. "Come on, Kyle," I say, patting his back and urging him to stand. He does so and I follow him to his feet and into the bathroom. He sits on the toilet seat lid, looking stunned.

"I don't know why I did that," he admits flatly.

"It's okay," I say, but my voice cracks. Nonetheless, I can't start crying now. If everyone around Kyle starts falling apart, it'll only make things worse.

I grab a cloth from under the sink and wet it with room temperature water before pressing it to the burn. "Ow…" Kyle whimpers.

"Sh," I say softly. "You'll be fine…" Afterward, I apply a little Neosporin with a q-tip and place a breathable bandage over it. "There, done."

"Thanks, Stan…" he murmurs. "You're too nice to me… I cause you so much fucking grief, but you're still here. I break your heart, but you're still here."

Kyle's broke my heart too many times to count, but I won't say that aloud. I need to stop being so fucking selfish. "I'm here because I want to be, Kyle. I love you."

"I know," he whispers.

"Can you try quitting smoking?" I request gently, kneeling in front of where he's seated.

He lets out a breath, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead on my shoulder. "I'll cut down," he murmurs into my neck.

"Okay," I say. It's progress, at least.

"Maybe someday I'll quit." He lifts his head and stares at me. "But not just yet."

"Okay," I say once more, forcing a smile.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Don't give me a fake smile in an attempt to make me think you're fucking proud. I know you're not. I'm not giving you any of the answers you want. You're not proud of me. You have no reason to be. I don't give you any reason to be proud. I'm a piece of shit to you and I'm a piece of shit to myself."

"Kyle…" I start. "Shut the fuck up for a sec, okay?"

"Excuse me?" he scoffs.

"You heard me," I say. "I told you to shut up because I don't really enjoy hearing you trash-talk yourself. I don't get it. I might be insensitive sometimes, but it's because I don't get it. I mean, how could I possibly ever understand what it is your feeling? I don't. Chances are, I never will. I mean… no one understand what you're going through except for you. Other people might understand more than me. Other people might have similar experiences, but in the end your experiences are only your own. There's no way I can know how to do the exact right thing because I don't know how you're feeling and you hardly talk about these things. It's hard, right? I don't blame you. So, look… I'm sorry if I fuck up. I'm sorry if I yell. I'm sorry if I make you feel worse about yourself than you already feel. I'm sorry if I'm saying all the wrong things. I'm sorry if, right this second, I'm saying something you don't need to hear… I'm just really fucking sorry, okay? I'm not trying to make you feel bad, I swear."

His lower lip trembles and he looks away, letting out a breath. "Shit," he says calmly. "You really know how to fuck me up in the best of ways, don't you?"

"So, I take it you're not too mad?" I assume.

"No, I'm not too mad," he says airily. "How could I be upset when you were so eloquent just now? Truly, I have been moved by your words."

My eyes narrow. "Are you being condescending?"

He glances at me and smiles. "Yeah, maybe a little bit." Nonetheless, he wraps his arms around me and I do the same to him, moving my hands up and down his back. I can feel his spine and it feels more prominent than it did earlier in the year.

"I love you," I say yet again.

"Yeah, yeah," he snorts. "I fuckin' love you, too." Before I can help it, I start crying. Fucking hell, I tried damn hard not to. Kyle doesn't say anything; he just chuckles sympathetically and pats my back. "You're worse than me sometimes," he says.

I don't reply. I can't find any words. Kyle scared the hell out of me today. He hurt himself on purpose and there was violent intent in what he did. Why? I don't get it. I don't get why someone would do a thing like that.

Kyle is getting colder and colder by the day. I don't know what it means. I don't know if it's because he's sick. I don't know if it's because he's trying to cope with every fucked up thing that's happening. I don't know. I don't fucking know. All I know is that I still fucking love him. When I say that, I mean it with every fibre of my being and that's why this hurts.

* * *

I don't stay at the Broflovski house much longer after that. I bid Kyle a goodbye and I let myself out. I leave quickly and without a word to Sheila. I wouldn't want her prying. Kyle wouldn't either.

Outside, it's snowing. In a matter of weeks, the weather will begin to change. Summer will come slowly and it won't stay for long, but nonetheless we'll all miss the snow. No one in South Park truly enjoys the summertime. When you're so used to the snow, you learn to love it.

By the time I arrive home, the house is quiet. Mom is probably still at work and Shelly is probably in her room. I don't bother going to check. I remove my boots and toss my coat onto the railing before trudging upstairs. I strip off my jeans and sweater, leaving myself in just a t-shirt and boxers. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth before returning to my room. After flicking off the lights, I flop onto my bed and wrap myself in my duvet. It's still early, but I don't care. I'm tired, really fucking tired. I try to blank my mind, but it's an impossible task and I can feel a lump forming in my throat.

I sit up and press a hand to my forehead, trying to will away the tears but no such fucking luck. I sniff and sob and try to be quiet about it but clearly I don't do a good job.

Suddenly my door swings open and Shelly is standing there. "What the hell are you doing?" she snaps. "I can hear you from across the hall, _turd_!"

I let out a long keening noise and Shelly groans, probably annoyed at the fact that I'm crying like a baby. Nonetheless, she approaches me bedside and sits on the mattress next to me. Awkwardly, she pats my shoulder.

"What's the problem?" she asks with a sigh.

"I don't know what to do…" my voice breaks.

"About what?" she questions.

"Kyle," I say. I take a breath, trying to calm myself. Better out than in. I get why Kyle cries so damn much, I really do. It feels good to let things out.

"That ginger turd?" she asks. "What did he do?"

"He hurt himself on purpose," I reveal hoarsely, wiping my eyes dry.

"Oh…" she murmurs flatly, probably expecting something a lot more shallow. "That's pretty serious…"

"I know," I whisper. "It scared the hell out of me and now I'm scared he'll do it again."

"Before you got home from school yesterday Mom was telling Dad about you and Kyle," she tells me. "So… I heard most of it."

"What were they saying?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Mom told Dad you were spending a lot of time at the Broflovski house lately. She told him Kyle had a recent relapse on top of his OCD… I kinda knew you were gay for him before you admitted it."

"I'm not good at keeping secrets," I admit. "I only told Mom."

Shelly gives me a few slaps on the back. "He'll be okay," she says surely.

"You can't know that, Shelly…"

"Yeah," she relents, "but look at all the shit Kyle's been through. He always comes out on top in the end. He'll be okay."

"What if things just get too hard?"

"You can't really do much, Stan," she says. "I know you probably wish you could fix him and have it all be magic and unicorns and puppies and rainbows like in the movies. But that's just a big pile of bullshit. The only person who can make Kyle okay is Kyle himself. Of course, you can offer your support and his therapist can act as a guide… but ultimately, Kyle is the one who has to make the change. It'll happen when he's ready. Clearly… he isn't ready yet."

"I know," I whisper. "I wish I could do more for him."

"You're doing plenty by being his friend, Stan," she says. "I mean… look at most guys – they don't have friends they can be naked with. Mind out of the gutter, I don't mean naked like _that_… but naked, as in completely vulnerable. You probably make it easy for him to open up because you're so god damn sensitive. Everyone needs pussy friends like that. Especially boys because so many suffer from _be a man_ syndrome. I'm sure Kyle is happy to have you."

"I know," I whisper again.

"So stop worrying and stop crying for God's sake, I'm trying to do my homework," she says, standing up. She leaves a moment later and returns to her own room across the hall.

I wonder if Kenny and Kevin ever have talks like this. I can kind of see why Kevin is so fond of Shelly now. I've never spoken to her like this before. I'll thank her in the morning.


	27. KM: Things I never knew

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

Kyle is now on the school psychologist's watch list thanks to his most recent hunger strike and everyone knows it, but he's acting like he doesn't give a shit. I wonder if that's how he really feels. "I don't get it," Kyle says with a careless sigh as we stroll down the hall. "I have _one_ therapist. I don't need two."

"It's not a bad thing, Kyle," I offer. "The school psychologist is a really nice old lady. I talk to her sometimes and I always leave her office feeling better."

"We're two _very_ different people, Kenny," he says.

"So?" I shrug. "She'll help you if you let her. So will your other doctor. Two heads are better than one, right?"

Kyle just rolls his eyes at me, refusing to say anything more on the subject as we walk into English class. He sits next to Stan while I sit in the row ahead with Eric. A moment later, the teacher walks in and the lesson begins.

I can't believe we'll be leaving this shit-hole soon. I'm sure the guys have already got their university applications in. They'll probably be going to a good school to further their educations and eventually become productive members of society. I've got different plans for myself. I'll get a job this summer and I plan on keeping it. I'm a thousand percent done with school and whatever I end up doing, I know it'll be better than more book learnin'. Formal education just isn't for me.

* * *

Weirdly enough, Craig is at school today. During lunch break, I decide to meet him at his locker. He's wearing plaid pajama pants and a sweater that's a size too big for him. He looks pale as ever and the bags under his eyes are prominent. They're also a little bloodshot. It must be hard not being able to sleep. I can't really imagine it. If I don't get a decent amount of sleep, I feel like shit. Craig must feel a hundred times worse than that. He doesn't react as he sees me approaching him, but once I'm in front of him he lets out a loud sigh, "What is it?"

"Can we talk?" I ask him.

He shoves a math textbook into his locker before closing it. He lets out a big yawn, stifling it with the back of his hand before answering me. "Not now, just drop by after school."

"You're going home early, aren't you?" I assume.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm really fucking tired and I can't keep my eyes open. I'm just going to lie down for a bit. This is high school, not fuckin' Harvard. I doubt I'll miss anything. I never do."

"True enough," I relent.

"Anyway," he waves. "See you in a few hours." He turns away and walks down the hallway.

I let out an audible groan as I watch him leave. He makes everything so much harder than it has to be. "Pfff…" I mutter to myself before going to find the guys in the cafeteria. I flop down next to Eric and he raises an eyebrow at me.

"What's got your pants in a knot?" he asks, shoving Doritos into his mouth.

"Nothing," I say. "Just frustrated."

"Sexually?" Kyle assumes dryly. Ah, he knows me well.

"Sexually…" I repeat. "Kind of, I guess."

"Is Craig the fag still playing hard to get?" Eric asks, snorting back a laugh and nearly choking on the food in his mouth.

I roll my eyes at him. "He's scared. I don't really blame him. I just remind myself that, if I were in his position, I'd probably be the exact same."

"Probably not," Kyle says. "You're a lot different than Craig, especially in terms of how you deal with your issues."

"Maybe," I shrug. "But enough about me… How're _you_, Kyle?"

"Perfectly fine," he says vaguely. A typical answer.

"I bought him lunch and watched him eat it," Stan adds.

Kyle frowns, giving Stan a look of distaste. "Please stop talking about me like I'm not here."

"Then give better answers," Stan retort. "Stop hiding everything. Christ… I mean, we're all friends here. We've been friends since we were babies. Why are we all keeping so many damn secrets? It's annoying… Shit, I mean, we're all guilty of it."

"I'll agree with that," I mutter, but at the same time I understand that some things are too hard to talk about. I never used to, so I was impatient. Really, though. I get it now.

"I'm not guilty of nothin'," Eric says.

"Come on…" Stan continues, dismissing him. "Can we all promise to be more fucking honest with one another?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Fine," Kyle adds.

Eric shakes his head at us. "I feel like I'm the one who is most honest amongst all of you lack-brains. You're all big on lying, especially you, Kahl… You sneaky Jewrat."

"Bitch," Kyle retorts.

"You're honesty is scary, Eric," I say, but I can't deny that it's true. Eric is the most honest one out of all of us and I can't count the amount of times I wished he would shut up. He says things no one really wants to hear, but I guess I can appreciate the fact that he's honest, even when it's harsh.

Eric simply shrugs his shoulders. "I'm just bein' real."

"Riiight," I say slowly.

"So," Stan interjects. "Does anyone have anything they want to get off their backs?"

No one says anything. Big surprise.

"My parents are separated," Stan decides to be the first to talk.

"It's about damn time," Eric murmurs. "We all know how much your fucking parents hate one another."

Stan rolls his eyes at the insensitive comment. "Yeah… I know. I was upset about it, but I'm okay now. I get that it's for the best."

"That's good," I smile.

"I'm also in l–" he starts, but Kyle cuts him off.

"Ah… Ha-ha-ha…" he laughs nervously. "You don't need to say _that_, Stan."

"We get it," Eric murmurs dryly. "It's no fucking secret that you two are gay for each other. Stan doesn't even have to say it." Kyle flushes angrily and Eric gives him a sweet smile in return.

"Whatever," Kyle snaps. "Someone change the damn subject. I don't want to talk about this shit."

"My parents locked me in the basement room again a little while ago," I reveal. I'm over it, but it's still worth telling them. Honesty, right?

"The room with the furnace?" Stan asks knowingly.

I simply nod, trying not to recall it. It's done now and I'll try hard to make sure it doesn't happen again.

"I'm sorry," he sympathizes. "For how long?"

I shrug. "Felt like hours but I think it was only twenty minutes… Karen came home with Ruby. Apparently they both heard me wailing. She sent Ruby up and then came downstairs to free me. My parents didn't give a shit. They heard me screaming and they ignored it. I was a hot mess."

"Jesus Christ," Kyle murmurs. "You should really get the law involved because that's child abuse…"

"I'm eighteen," I tell him. "Not a child."

"You're still _their_ child," he insists. "It's not right, Kenny. It's not right at all."

I shrug. "They're my parents. I don't want to fuck them over. Besides, I'm fine."

Kyle scoffs at me. "Do you remember…" he starts, "when we were fifteen and Trent Boyett got out of Juvie again?"

I rub my temples, knowing precisely where this story is going. "Yes," I say tartly.

"Naturally, Butters got it again first," Kyle continues. "He landed himself in the hospital, a bloody fucking mess. The rest of us tried running away again, but no such luck. Trent was chasing us all with a wooden baseball bat. I kind of gave up by then. I mean, he said he'd stop if we let him exact his personal revenge. I didn't want to keep waiting, so I just gave him and decided to let him do what he wanted. You guys kept running. You didn't even notice that I stopped because you were too desperate to get away. I don't really blame you. We were all scared shitless. By the time he was done with me, I was all crying and pathetic. I ended up breaking my arm for a second time… But I was just fucking glad it was done… Eventually he got you guys, too. Kenny, you were the last and you were chased into a corner and he just started bawling. Trent probably thought it was because you were scared of getting hurt, but I knew that wasn't it. I knew you just felt trapped, the way you feel when your parents lock you up."

"I know," I murmur. At least Trent doesn't bother us anymore. In fact, he doesn't even mean-mug us in the hallways. We've all moved on and if I'm going to be honest, I'll admit that we deserved to get punished for what we did to him. We were a bunch of assholes as kids. Trent was, too, but we were the ones to start this. He finished it, though. Now it's over and it's something that rarely crosses my mind these days.

"And do you remember the time you pissed off a couple of seniors when we were freshmen?" Kyle adds. "They decided to lock you in the janitor's closet and, naturally, you started screaming. I asked them to stop, but they wouldn't. They laughed and laughed until you started crying. Then they stopped. I think they were scared of getting in trouble, so they ran off."

"What are you trying to say, Kyle?" I ask, annoyed that he's openly talking about all my less than stellar moments. He's kind of being a hypocrite, since he acts so outraged whenever we mention _his_ issues. Jeez. Now I feel sour.

"I'm saying… people can use this shit against you," he tells me. "So, it's best to get phobias under control no matter what they are."

"Kyle," I deadpan, "I talk when I need to. I'm not afraid to visit the guidance counsellor. In fact, I do it quite frequently. Besides, are you really the best person to be lecturing me about this shit?"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" he asks, eyes narrowing in my direction.

"You have so many fucking problems I can't even count them all on my hands," I state flatly.

"Well, I'm fucking trying!" he snaps at me.

Eric is smirking. "Isn't honesty so much fun?" he cuts in cynically. "Christ, you guys are hilarious."

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose. "Let's all just… stop for now."

"This was your idea," Kyle murmurs.

"Yeah, but _some of us_ are a little too sensitive to talk about the important shit," Stan says pointedly, standing up. "Besides, class is starting soon."

* * *

After remedial math, I have my free period. Instead of hanging out with the guys, I head straight to Craig's house. When I get there, I'm relieved beyond explanation to find that he doesn't have anyone over this time and he wasn't just planning to fuck me over again. He lets me in without a word and I immediately step out of my shoes and remove my parka. He takes it from me and hangs it in the coat closet. "Did you sleep okay?" I ask.

"Didn't actually sleep," he admits, "but it was relaxing, I guess."

"That's good…" I murmur.

"Well, come on," he says, gesturing for me to follow him upstairs. Once we're in his room, we both stand face to face for a few minutes before speaking.

"We're good, right?" I ask suddenly.

"Right," he says slowly. "Why…?"

"I have a question," I start. "It's been in the front of my mind for a while, but I keep hesitating. It's one you may not want to answer."

He scoffs. "Since when has that ever stopped you?"

"It's different than that…" I mutter.

"Well, spit it out," he demands flatly.

"A while ago Karen told me something Ruby said to her," I say. "I don't know if it's a lie or if she was being honest… Karen says she lies a lot."

Craig rolls his eyes. "This ought to be good…" he murmurs sarcastically. "What did she say? You're right about one thing… Ruby loves to lie."

"She told Karen that when you were a little younger one of your dad's drinking buddies took advantage of you…" I say quietly, hoping it isn't true. "Like, forced himself on you..."

For a moment, Craig remains blank faced… then he cracks a cynical looking smile and I can see the silver chunks of metal on his teeth. "It's a lie," he says. "That never happened. I don't know why she would make up something disgusting like that, but it's not true. How the fuck would she even know a thing like that in the first place?"

"Are _you_ lying?" I ask.

"No, I'm not lying," he insists. "Ruby is. It's her favorite thing to do."

"Good," I say, hoping he's being honest. I know I can never know for sure and there are some things I know he'll never talk about no matter how much I try. Sometimes lying is easier.

"I make the choices," he tells me. "I've never been forced."

"That's good," I say. "It'd probably be pretty fucking awful." He flops onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. I lie down next to him and then ask, "So, since we're on good terms now… Wanna go out?"

"You know, you're not supposed to keep trying to fucking hard when somebody rejects you," Craig mutters. "It's not romantic. It's just annoying."

I laugh at that. "I know," I admit. "Typically, I would stop... but this case is different because I know you feel the same way and I know we'd be good together."

He tilts his head to the side so he can see me. "I like you, Kenny," he says, "but, to be honest, it probably wouldn't work out."

"Why not?" I frown.

"Because," he continues with a sigh, "we're both…"

"Promiscuous?" I fill in the blanks after he trails off.

"There's a nicer way of saying it," he snorts, "but yeah, basically."

"So, what?" I shrug. "I know I can be faithful. I was faithful to Bebe for a year until we decided we wanted to spice things up and do a little experimenting. I was faithful to every other girlfriend I had before Bebe, too."

"How impressive," he says sarcastically.

"What's the problem, then?" I ask. "I don't get it. I'm not going to cheat, I'm not going to randomly drop dead and leave you forever."

"What if I do something wrong instead?" he wonders. "I've never been in a relationship before."

"What would you possibly do wrong?" I question.

"I don't know," he admits. "I've done a lot…"

"Well, as long as you're not trying to hurt me I can forgive it," I say. "We're okay. You know I'm not going to leave."

"I've consciously hurt you a lot this year," he mentions. "Did you forgive me for that?"

"Yeah," I tell him. "I know you've got problems and I know you were trying to scare me away because you're afraid of this kind of stuff."

He scoffs. "Christ, you make me sound pathetic."

"You are a little pathetic," I say and he nudges me.

"I like you, Kenny," he says again. "So, I'll think about it."

"You'll think about it…" I repeat. "Fine. I'll give you the time you need." I get up a moment later and he asks me where I'm going. "I'm giving you time," I reiterate to him.

"Okay," he waves me off.

I leave the room without another word and walk downstairs. Ruby is watching TV, but when she spots me she jumps up and greets me in a simpering tone. "Hi, Kenny."

"Hi," I greet her in return. "Why aren't you at school?"

"Skipping," she winks, putting a finger to her lips. "Don't tell anyone."

"Right," I chuckle. "Your secret is safe with me."

"So, did Craig finally give you a chance?" she asks.

"He's thinking," I tell her. "So, I'm going to give him time. I don't mind giving him time."

She rolls her eyes at me. "You know," she starts, "If happiness is what you're looking for, you won't find it in Craig. He'll keep you down. As long as you're with him, you'll never be happy. He's high maintenance. He'll keep you up at night and not in the fun way, but in a way that'll just stress you out."

"What do you mean?" I pry, raising an eyebrow.

"He has nightmares sometimes," she says quietly. "When he actually does get to sleep, he'll usually have bad dreams. He'll cry, mumble, or shout. Sometimes I see Dad hovering in the doorway, but he never goes any further. Instead, I do. I wake Craig up and sit with him for a few minutes until he tells me to go away."

"Ruby, you aren't going to scare me off. If Craig didn't succeed, you're not going to either. Besides, I'm not looking for happiness," I tell her. "I've already got it. I found happiness within myself. You don't look for happiness in other people. If you do, of course you'll always be sad and shit. Only dumb assholes look for happiness in other people. They'll just stay disappointed forever. It's not really fair to force so much on another person, is it? Besides, ever think that maybe I might be good for a guy like Craig? I mean, I can't help him heal… only he can do that but I can be there when he needs someone to talk to. I like to think I understand him a lot better now."

She shrugs. "He's too stubborn. He won't let you be there for him."

"You might be surprised," I say. "I've made a lot of progress with your brother this year. He's pretty open with me."

She scoffs. "He's a liar!" she snaps.

"You're the liar," I retort.

"He lies, too!"

I don't understand why she's getting so upset over this. I don't know whether she's jealous of Craig or if she's trying to protect him. Nonetheless, I'm not going to ask her. She wouldn't tell me the truth even if I did. "We all lie," I say. "I've learned that many times. It's okay, though. He can keep a few secrets. I'll learn them eventually. Secrets always have a habit of coming out, whether or not you want them to."

"God dammit," she murmurs. "You're so full of shit."

"Maybe," I consider, before deciding to change the subject. "Hey, Ruby," I start. "Speaking of lying… You need to stop. Everyone lies, but you do it too much. It's not healthy."

"But I like lying," she says. "It's fun."

I roll my eyes. "Case and point… not healthy. Lying isn't supposed to be fun. It's something people do when they're scared or desperate… I can forgive that, but I can't forgive someone doing it just to be a dick."

"Who cares! No one. Besides, when have I ever lied to you?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "Where's this coming from?"

"Ruby, how the hell would I know if you lied to me? Besides, I'm talking about something you said to Karen that she relayed to me," I add. "A pretty low and ugly lie."

"I don't lie to Karen," Ruby reveals. "Karen's the only person I'm honest with and if it's something I said to Karen then it's true."

"Is that another lie?" I ask with a scoff.

"No!" she exclaims and the larger part of me believes her. Maybe she's telling the truth this time.

I place my fingers over my mouth. "Well… shit," I state sadly.

"What is it?" she asks, tilting her head to the side.

"Something unpleasant you said to Karen about Craig," I say vaguely.

"I've said _lots_ of unpleasant things about Craig to Karen," she notes, shrugging carelessly. "She probably knows more about him than you do… She knows all the icky things. She knows everything I know. I tell her everything."

"Y-you once told her that…" I trail off, mouth feeling dry as I try to get the words out. "You once told her he got forced… forced, like… to sleep with someone… someone your dad knew…"

"Oh," she says, frowning and crossing her arms. "That."

"Is it true?" I ask and before Ruby can give me an answer, Craig appears at the top of the staircase.

"Shut up!" he snaps. "You both need to start minding your own fucking business!"

"I will once you start being honest," I respond gently. "I care about you, okay? I fucking love you and that's why I'm so fucking annoying."

He grinds his teeth together, rubbing his palms down his face and letting out a weak sob. "Shit," he says quietly, pounding his fist against his head. I let out a sigh, walking back up the stairs.

"Come on, don't hit yourself," I whisper, grabbing his fists and curling my fingers around them. A second later, the both of us go back to his room. Ruby is probably rolling her eyes at the both of us right about now. I don't fucking blame her. Craig lies back on his bed, pressing his face into the mattress. "You cry a lot," I note, sitting down beside him and rubbing his back. In that way, he's a little like Kyle. "I never would've guessed. You don't really seem like the type."

"Shut up," he says, voice muffled by the bed sheets.

"It's a good thing," I say. "Better out than in, right?"

"It was consensual," he says, changing the subject and rolling onto his side to face me.

"Are you lying again?" I ask.

"No," he snaps. "I'm not fucking lying, you fucking prick!"

"How'd it happen, then?" I pry.

He sneers at me, probably embarrassed that we're talking about something like this. "It was years after my mom died," he starts flatly. "I just turned fifteen. I was done with suicide attempts so I decided to try something different. My dad had his boss over as well as one of his co-workers. The three of them were drinking and playing cards while a sports game was on the TV. They did this often and I knew his boss was a fucking pervert from the way he watched me. So, I guess I'm the one that took advantage of him… being the pervert he was. Dad and his co-worker were too drunk to function by midnight and so I came downstairs. I was a virgin, but hardly shy. I propositioned him in front of my dad, but he didn't even notice. I guess I wanted him to… I wanted him to shout at me, send me to my room... I wanted attention, but he was too wasted. Anyway, so I took the man to my room. He gave me what I asked for. Ruby must've heard it… or saw him leave my room, I don't know. I don't care, either. I kept it going for a couple months, sick as it sounds. He'd buy me things… like he was trying to make up for fucking with a kid. Eventually I ended it. He still comes by sometimes to drink with my dad. I'll give him my most insincere smile… and he'll look so fucking guilty."

"You were fifteen…" I say in disbelief. "That's illegal and gross."

"I don't care," he repeats himself, sitting up and eying me. "If the story ever got out and he ever got tried, I'd go up to the stand and tell them how much I fucking _loved_ it." He leans forward and touches his lips to mine briefly before drawing back. "You want to date me? Sure, let's do it. I'll be your boyfriend or whatever it is you want me to be."

"Why are you suddenly relenting like this?" I ask suspiciously.

"Because," he says, "you know all the grossest parts of me and you stay. You keep crawling back, even when I do awful things. People might say I have no self-respect. I guess I don't… but I'd like to know something. Do _you_ have any?"

"Yeah," I say. "I have some." Maybe I used to have more but I lost a little. Nonetheless, I'm all right. Generally speaking, I'm pretty content. Like I said earlier, happy even.

"_Some_…" he repeats with a light scoff. "Well, I guess it's more than I have."

"It's okay," I say. "Things like this can always be retrieved."

He cringes. "You're so optimistic. It's gross."

"You're so pessimistic," I retort. "It's gross."

He smiles at that, though it's bitter as always. He lies back down and stares up at the ceiling. "When I was little," he starts, "I was really into outer space… The vastness of the universe fascinated me. I wanted to be an astronaut more than anything. When I was eight, my mother bought these little glow in the dark stickers. Some were star shaped, some were circles… To surprise me, she got a ladder and she put them on my ceiling while I was at school and when I went to bed that night my ceiling lit up and it was like I was looking up at the sky. I was _so_ happy."

Heh… Spaceman Craig.

"Aw…" I say softly. "That's a sweet story."

"I took 'em down when I was twelve," he continues. "It's when my insomnia really set in and I'd lie awake at night… Looking up at the ceiling full of stars only made me feel worse because she was dead and that was just another reminder."

"Understandable… but you shouldn't dwell forever on something that happened when you were young."

He lets out a sigh. "I just keep screwing myself over. It's like I can't stop. I don't know why that is."

"See a doctor," I suggest. "Not just once… but regularly. A doctor will help you, but you might need to see a few different ones until you find one you really like. Kyle was lucky to find a good one on his first try. Maybe you will, too?"

"Nah," he dismisses the idea immediately.

"Then at least talk to the school counsellor," I say. "I talk to her a lot. She's really helpful and nice."

"Nah," he says again.

"Fine," I relent. "I won't tell you what to do."

"Why do you like me?" he asks out of the blue. "Most people want other things from me… I've never met someone who just wanted me for me."

"I got to know you," I say. "I'm going to go ahead and assume most people haven't taken the time. Then again, you make it pretty fucking strenuous…"

"Dick," he murmurs. "Is that why you want me? Because it's like a really challenging game?"

"No," I chuckle. "I want you because I love you and I love you because there's so much more to you than most people think. I mean, yeah, most people like you… Or, they _liked_ you until you decided to start being a complete asshole. Not your most shining moment, I gotta say."

He rolls his eyes, not swayed. "I don't care if people like me. It's easier if they don't."

"All right," I say. "You're interesting, Craig. You're a lot of things. I don't regret any of it, even the bad parts. It all had purpose. Sometimes shit happens for a reason."

"For what it's worth…" he starts, trailing off for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are," I say. "I forgive you." I'm surprised he got the words out.

He offers me a brief smile and it's not as cold. "You're too nice."

"Yeah, yeah," I say dismissively, lying down next to him so our shoulders touch. We lie together quietly, not talking or moving. I feel pushy as hell and even more so when I realize I've finally got what I wanted… but I don't regret it. I mean it when I say that. Even the bad parts had purpose. Craig led me on and then threw it in my face, but that caused me to reveal my secret to him. He understands now. I'm not going anywhere… but maybe that's a possibility that also frightens him.

A moment later, he shifts towards me, rolling onto his side and pressing himself against me. "I feel relieved," he says quietly.

"Why's that?" I ask.

"I don't know," he admits. "I just feel relief when I'm with you."

"Cute." Sometimes I wonder if he knows what he's really saying when he says little things like that. "Hey, Craig? What's Christmas like at your house?"

"We don't celebrate," he says. "It's just like any other day… except me and Ruby are a little nicer to each other."

"Oh…"

"What about you, then?" he asks. "Do the McCormicks celebrate Jesus' birthday?"

"We basically just get stoned together," I admit. "Me, Karen and Kevin swap presents, though… There's no fancy dinner or anything. I don't know. It's nothing big, but it's still nice."

"Hm," he muses, rolling over again and perching himself up on two elbows before staring down at me.

"What is it?" I ask.

He shrugs. "It's just weird…"

"What's weird?"

"All of this," he says.

"I guess so," I agree, "but weird doesn't have to be a bad thing."

He leans down and presses his face into my sternum. "I guess. Are we gonna fuck now to, like, consummate the relationship?"

I snicker at that. "Nah," I say. "We don't have to do that. The words are enough."

"What if I want to?" he asks.

"Then we can," I start, "but I have a feeling you don't want to."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're tired and upset and you'd just be allowing me to use you. I don't want to be like all those other guys you surround yourself with, 'kay?"

"Okay…" He turns his head so his cheek is now pressed to my chest and he stares at me. I reach forward and touch his face.

"What?" he asks, tossing one of his legs over mine.

"Nothin'," I say. "I just like seeing you."

"Hm…" he mumbles, closing his eyes and continuing to use me as a pillow. I don't mind. I'm not sure how much time goes by, but Craig's breathing evens out. I think he's _actually_ asleep!

Suddenly, I hear footsteps coming up the stairs and Ruby appears in the doorway. "Wow," she whispers. "Is he actually asleep?"

"I think so," I whisper back and being careful not to move. "He must've been tired as hell."

"You know," she starts, "he does love you. Even if he never says it, he does feel it."

"Yeah," I say. "I know."

"So, did you two stupid assholes finally get your shit together?" Ruby asks, crossing her arms. Her tone is incredibly disdainful. She's probably getting tired of all the drama. I don't blame her. I'm tired of it, too. I think I'd really like for things to quiet down.

"Yeah," I say. "I think so."

"Finally," she snorts.

Yeah, finally.

"Hey," she adds in a more serious tone, "be good to him, okay?"

"I will," I promise her.

She nods, turning away and leaving the room. Once she's gone, I close my own eyes and allow myself to drift off as well.

* * *

When I open my eyes, it's dark. The moon is up and there is a dim light drifting into the room from beyond the curtains.

"Awake?" Craig's voice asks. He's sitting against his pillow with a Nintendo 3DS in his hands.

"Yeah," I say, sitting up. "What time is it?"

"Three in the morning," he says.

"Holy shit!" I exclaim in a whisper. "When did you wake up?"

"An hour ago," he says.

"How do you feel?"

"Good… I haven't slept that long in a while without medication. I really hate sleeping pills… I try not to take them too often because I don't want to grow dependent on them. They give me headaches, weird dreams, stomach aches, tremors, confusion, memory lapses and they take away my energy so even when I feel rested, I still groggy. Ruby found me sleep walking around the house a few times, too."

"Jesus," I mutter. "That doesn't sound like it's even worth it…"

"Yeah," he snorts, still staring down at the game console in his hand. "Drugs are hardly worth it… It's like… 'Oh yeah, take this drug… but watch out, you might die or shit your pants or something.' I mean, what the fuck?"

I snicker at that. "I know."

"But I mean… I look okay, right?" he asks. "I mean… I know I look good enough to convince a so-called straight guy to sleep with me."

"Bill?" I assume.

"Yeah…" he murmurs. "Sorry…"

Because of reasons like this, I think the pretty people have it the worst. People don't see past your looks. People will use you. Craig let it happen far too many times. Maybe it's another reason things are easier with my parka on. Not to sound vain or anything… but I'm pretty good looking. "S'fine." I shrug and decide to change the subject. "So, what are you playing?"

"Animal Crossing," he says.

"Oh, cute," I say.

"Hey, when are you leaving?" he asks.

"Uh… I dunno," I shrug. "Wanna kick me out now?"

"No," he says. "It's the middle of the night."

I lean against the pillow and watch him play his game for a while until he gets bored of it. He turns it off and puts the console on his nightstand. "What now?" I ask. "The night is young."

"Sex?" he suggests.

"No rush," I say.

He rolls his eyes. "We've had sex before. I'm not naïve and you're not pressuring me."

"Isn't your dad, like… in the next room?" I ask. "And isn't your sister just down the hall, too?"

"Like they care…" he mutters before standing up and digging supplies out of his nightstand. "Come on, let's go into the basement."

I stand up after him and follow him out of the room. "You're sure?"

"Oh, my _God_," he laughs in disbelief. "You're fucking hilarious sometimes."

Craig laughing… It'd be a nice sound of there wasn't so much mocking and cynicism wrapped up in it. "I just don't want to make you feel bad or anything."

"Look," he states as we reach the bottom of the first set of stairs. "I'm horny. I want to have sex with you. Okay?"

"Okay," I relent as we descend the second set of stairs and enter the basement. "I've never been in this part of your house before," I say, immediately spotting the dusty piano sitting in the corner of the large, open room. They probably had it moved after Craig's mom died. From what Craig's said, it probably hasn't been touched since.

"It's nothing exciting," he shrugs. "Just another TV room. This is usually where we watch stuff when Clyde, Token and Kevin come over…"

"Oh," I snicker. "That's fun."

"Mhm," he muses, reaching for the edge of my t-shirt. I raise my arms as he lifts it over my head and tosses it to the carpet. He touches his lips to mine while unzipping my jeans and pushing them down along with my shorts. When we part he pushes me into a sitting position on the sofa before sinking to his knees and putting his mouth to work.

I'll let him take control. I doubt he's been granted control with many of his partners. He might deny it, but I think he's been taken advantage of a lot – by guys, but maybe by girls, too. I think that's probably what Annie did. I doubt Craig was happy with himself in that moment, but instead of allowing regret and guilt to sink in, he acted like a total dick.

He draws back a moment later and hands me a condom and a bottle. I open the package and roll it on before lubing up.

Once Craig is bare, he slowly sinks onto my lap slowly, resting his knees on either side of my hips. He closes his eyes and lets out a shuddery moan, biting on his bottom lip. "Good?" I ask quietly.

"Mhm…" he murmurs, rolling his hips.

I lean back, running my hands up and down his legs and stomach and chest. He's pretty and he's mine and I'm his.

* * *

Afterward, we just sit together with our limbs tangled, not minding the fact that we're both sweaty messes. He turns the TV on and we watch some stupid cartoon. When the sun comes out, I get dressed and announce my departure. He puts his pajama pants back on before walking me to the door.

"See you around, _boyfriend_," he says somewhat mockingly.

I slip into my boots and throw on my parka, giving him a quick kiss. "Bye, _boyfriend_," I reply, showing him a sugary-sweet smile before putting on my hood.

I'll go home and I'll shower. I'll waste a little time before getting dressed and going downstairs to grab food. I wonder if my parents even noticed I was gone. They never do.


	28. SM: Cartman strikes again

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**THANK YOU for reviewing!**

**Stan's POV**

* * *

It's been a couple weeks since Kyle started taking those damn Xanax pills. I don't know how long it takes for them to start taking long-term effect, but Kyle doesn't seem to think they're working at all. He says they make him tired and they make him feel weird, so he stopped taking them altogether. I don't know if he told his therapist yet. Unfortunately, nothing has changed. He's still kind of solemn and when he's not solemn he's moody – even a little mean. I don't really mind being on the receiving end of his sass, but I think he feels guilty afterwards. The last thing he needs is more of that.

It's a Friday now and we're walking home from school. "Wanna come over?" Kyle offers.

"Sure," I say.

Once we arrive at his house, Sheila looks like she has something to say. Nonetheless, Kyle doesn't ask her what's on her mind. I decide I won't either. Kyle would probably get pissed off if I did… though, I can't help but wonder what it is she wants to say. We take off our boots and coats and I follow Kyle upstairs to his room. "Your mom looked like she wanted to tell you something…" I mention.

"Did she?" he asks, portraying an air of what's obviously facetious naivety.

"Yeah…" I murmur.

He shrugs. "If it's that important, she'll say it eventually." He flops onto his bed and closes his eyes.

"Is that why you invited me over?" I ask with a sigh. "So she'd back off?"

"No," he insists. "That would be immature of me, wouldn't it? She's been antsy since yesterday. I don't know what it is she wants or if she'll ever say it."

"Ask her," I suggest.

He frowns. "What if it's something I don't want to hear?"

"Maybe it's for the best?" I offer.

His frown deepens and he opens his eyes. "Probably not."

"Did you tell your therapist that you stopped taking those pills?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I probably should, though… hm?"

"Yeah," I murmur. "Just tell him you didn't like the way they made you feel. That's reasonable. I'm sure he'll understand."

"Fine," he says with a sigh.

"And dude? You should go ask your mom what's up," I add. "Go ease her stress because she looked like her head was about to explode."

He rolls his eyes, sitting up. "Fine, fucker." He saunters out of the room and I follow him downstairs. Ike is seated on the sofa, watching TV. He looks a little meek, as if he's mentally preparing himself for what's about to go down. I guess I'll do the same. "Maaa?" Kyle calls.

Sheila pops out of the kitchen a moment later along with Gerald. "Yes, Bubby?"

"You have something to say to me," he states surely, crossing his arms in a defensive manner. "What is it?"

She lets out a sigh, staring down at the floor. "Your father and I have been discussing something with your brother."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Lovely. That's always the start of every fun conversation."

"We think it might be a good idea for you to go back to the hospital… for a _rest_," she says gently.

"Hospital… as in the nut house?" he asks knowingly.

"Don't call it that," she tries to reason with him.

"No!" he immediately shouts, staring accusingly at everyone in the room, including me. "I'm not going back there for a _third_ time!"

"Kyle –" Gerald tries, but Kyle cuts him off.

"No!" he shouts again. "I'm eighteen! I'm not admitting myself in there!"

"Please, Kyle?" I cut in, eliciting a look of disgust and betrayal from Kyle.

"It's complete crap!" he yells. "Do you know what kind of shit they're allowed to do to you in a nuthouse? You have no rights… no privacy. Then again, I don't really have any of that here, either." He gives his parents a glare, probably hinting at the removal of his door and the bathroom lock. "Can't even shit in peace."

"Please consider it," I say calmly. "We'll visit you every damn day and if something bad happens you can leave right away."

"Fuck," he hisses, rubbing his temples and starting to weep. I put a hand on his shoulder and he gives me a helpless look before throwing his arms around my neck and crying angrily. I wouldn't know what to say, so I keep my mouth shut and wrap my arms around his back. He sounds beyond angry and upset and betrayed. His nails are digging into my skin and it stings, but I don't mention it.

Eventually, I feel his grip loosen and he moves away, leaving the house in a daze. I follow him outside. "Kyle, come on… Put your shoes on, at least. Summer isn't quite here yet. There's still snow on the ground."

"Stan…" he says my name, letting out a heavy breath. "Do you really think I need to be institutionalized?"

"It might help," I tell him. "I mean… it's clear you're having a pretty rough time of things lately. It might be a good idea to go somewhere that will be stress free."

"Fine," he whispers, sitting on the front steps. I close the door and sit down next to him. I take his hand and hold it in mine. "This sucks," he murmurs.

"Yeah," is all I say.

* * *

The following day, Kyle signs himself into the institution. He sighs loudly as we walk into the building and once all the paperwork is finished, he waves bye. Me, Ike and his parents do the same and then they exchange a few words with a doctor. The ordeal is unceremonious at best. Kyle didn't say anything during the ride there. He didn't protest, either. I hope the doctors are nice and I hope he doesn't have any bad experiences.

"Listen, Stan," Ike glances at me as his parents are preoccupied. "You might not understand it… but when Kyle looks at himself, he doesn't see what you see when you look at him."

"What does he see?" I ask.

"Who knows," Ike shrugs, "but whatever it is, he hates it. He's really critical of himself."

"Hm…" I mumble.

Sheila notified the school and they said they would make allowances so his marks wouldn't he affected. To be honest, I don't think Kyle is too worried about that right now, which is good. He shouldn't think about things like that. The stress of school can make things worse.

Once his parents are finished talking to the doctor, they offer to drive me to school, but I'm not really feeling it – so I ask for a drive home instead. They don't even question it.

"So," Sheila says, trying to seem in good spirits, "You and Kyle will be graduating in a month."

"Yeah," I smile. "It'll be exciting. We applied to some of the same schools."

"Oh, it would be nice if you two boys are able to spend your university years together," Gerald adds. "University can be rough and it's good to have a close friend around when you're away from home."

"Yeah," I say again. "If me and Kyle end up at the same school, we'll probably room together. We should be getting our acceptance or rejection letters any day now."

"Where did you apply?" Ike asks. "I know Kyle applied to Boulder, Harvard, Yale and Stanford."

"I applied to Boulder, Stanford and Colarado State… though I might be a little too hopeful. My math mark isn't the greatest, plus I'm in remedial math… and kind of stupid in general."

"Be optimistic," Sheila says.

"Cartman applied to Boulder as well," I add. "So, we might be seeing him around too if we end up there."

"I'm sure Kyle would love that," Ike snorts.

"Yeah," I chuckle.

* * *

The next few days go by slowly. Kyle's not supposed to have visitors just yet. They want him to concentrate on himself, but we're allowed to see him this coming week. I hope he's holding up all right.

Naturally, Kenny asked where Kyle was right away. He wasn't all that surprised when I told him. Cartman, on the other hand, hasn't asked yet. I wonder if he's even noticed Kyle hasn't been around.

During lunch, Kenny invites Craig to sit with us. He looks uncomfortable the entire time, like he's worried me or Catman are going to say something mean. I wouldn't stoop that low, but Cartman might. He looks like he wants to and he might not be able to stop himself.

Craig slowly chews on a granola bar, refusing to make eye contact with any of us. Kenny is chattering away about things that don't matter, probably in an attempt to keep things as lively as possible. He probably doesn't want to give Cartman the chance to be a dick. I'm going to go ahead and forgive Craig for being such an ass in the past and write it off on him being too emotionally disturbed to think like a normal person. But I know Kenny loves him and I know he cares a lot about Kenny. I mean, I saw that video I apparently took. Craig bawled when Kenny shot himself. That was genuine emotion.

Eventually, Kenny surprisingly runs out of things to say and we fall into a silence that Cartman decides to disrupt. "So, Braceface," he deadpans, staring right at Craig as he crowns him with a new nickname. "You finally snared our boy Kinny," he gives Craig a sugary sweet smile and it looks incredibly false.

Craig glances over at Kenny, probably not quite sure what to say. He hasn't said anything at all yet since he sat down.

"I hear you've got quite the history," Cartman continues. "Ken, you might want to get him tested before sticking your dick anywhere, just saying."

"I actually just got tested… I'm clean," Craig murmurs tartly, looking like he's trying to swallow his irritation.

"Are you?" Cartman asks carelessly before staring at Kenny. "He's probably lying. Have him tested anyway."

"I'm not lying, you slapdick," Craig grits his teeth.

Cartman cackles at his anger. "Be honest, you've had an STD before, haven't you?"

"That's not even your fucking business," Craig states.

"Kinny is my friend," Cartman insists, "so that makes it my business. I'm simply worried for the wellbeing of one of my best pals."

Kenny rolls his eyes. "You're just trying to be a dick, Eric. None of us are fooled."

"Answer the question, Craig-Fag," Cartman urges, ignoring Kenny.

Craig flushes. "Yes," he hisses. "Yes, I've had an STD before."

"Ewww," Cartman gags loudly. I also can't help but cringe.

Kenny rolls his eyes. "Who cares?" he drawls, probably trying to make Craig feel better.

"What was it?" Cartman pries nosily.

"Chlamydia," Craig murmurs.

"Gross!" Cartman gags again, being incredibly dramatic. "Sick!"

"Ew," I add before I can stop myself. I don't know why he felt the need to actually say it.

"Yup," Craig says flatly, finishing his granola bar. "I'm fuckin' disgusting."

"No, you're not," Kenny cuts in wearily. "And Eric, shut the fuck up. Seriously, none of this concerns you, but if you are so worried about it, know that we always use a condom."

"Still," Cartman shrugs. "You're never a hundred percent safe when you're having sex with a nasty lil ho."

"Eric, fuck off!" Kenny snaps, slamming his hands onto the table, grabbing the attention of half the lunch room.

Craig's eyes are glassy and I feel my gut twist around. "Cartman, seriously shut the fuck up," I say. "You have no reason to be acting like such a prick."

"I literally just stated a fact," Cartman tries to defend himself. "Everyone's been up Craig's ass or on his fuckin' dick. I'm just sayin', I wouldn't go near someone like that with a ten foot long stick."

"It doesn't matter how many times someone had sex!" Kenny hisses. "That's not something a person should lose respect over! Be nice!"

Cartman snorts back a laugh, clearly not convinced. He's being a bit hypocritical since he sleeps around, too. I think he's just being an asshole because he feels like it.

Craig bends over and starts rubbing his temples. Kenny puts a hand on his back, moving circles around it. Kenny leans over and whispers something I don't catch into Craig's ear. He's probably trying to comfort him. I don't know if he's crying, but clearly he's upset… Hell, Craig is a lot different than I thought. He's pretty fragile. It's probably why he stays away from people. People can be pretty awful.

"Where the fuck's Kyle, anyway?" Cartman finally asks, finished with Craig since he got the reaction he clearly wanted.

"Hospital," I tell him.

"Again?" Cartman snorts, rolling his eyes.

"He signed himself in," I say.

"Ohhh," Cartman gives a long nod. "So, he didn't just pass out… He's in the nuthouse, you mean?"

"Don't call it that," I snap, giving him the stink-eye. Jeez, he's on a roll today. What a fucking champ. Nonstop douche mode. He looks smug and immensely proud of himself for cracking _stone-cold_ Craig Tucker.

"Come on," Kenny says, patting Craig on the shoulder and urging him to stand. Craig does, averting his eyes the entire time and refusing to meet the gazes of me and Cartman. "See you guys," Kenny murmurs as they walk off.

"Heh…" Cartman snickers once they're gone. "Did'ja see that? The mighty has fallen."

"Wow," I say sarcastically. "You're so cool, Cartman. You made someone cry. Awesome job. Well done. Congratulations. A very proud moment. I wish I had my camera."

"Fuck!" he snaps at himself, whipping out his phone and sulking. "You're right! I should've taken a damn picture."

"You have absolutely no remorse," I murmur, shaking my head at him.

"For a dick like Tucker? Nah, son," he snorts. "That guy can suck my balls… though, he'd probably enjoy it."

"He wouldn't be able to find them under all that lard," I retort. "And I really doubt he'd enjoy it even if he could because you're a fucking psycho."

"Ay!" Cartman growls.

I smirk at him. "Craig isn't that tough anyway, dude. Try making Christophe or Token cry instead."

"Tucker is a fucking sociopath," Cartman insists.

I laugh at that. "No, he's not a fucking sociopath. He's a scared kid with a bad case of PTSD and a sleep disorder."

Cartman raises an eyebrow, but then shrugs, probably deciding he doesn't care. "He ain't worth shit."

"Whatever, dude," I say. "You're probably just jealous that he looked content for a change and you decided to make him feel like crap." Hell, I feel bad for Craig. I feel bad for cringing, too. I should probably apologize. Christ, it probably took a lot of convincing on Kenny's behalf for Craig to agree to sit with us in the first place… Now he'll never want to do it again thanks to me and mostly Cartman.

"I ain't got a reason to be jealous of that fag," he says.

"Maybe you're lonely," I smile.

Cartman rolls his eyes. "Not especially," he says. "But nice try. I've got a girlfriend, you dipshit."

"Seriously?" I raise an eyebrow. "Who is it?"

"It's a pretty recent development," he adds before revealing, "but I'm dating Annie."

I snort back a laugh. "Cool, you both deserve each other."

"She's one stone-cold bitch, eh?" he cackles. "I love it."

"I don't even want to imagine what kind of shit you two get up to," I shudder, though Cartman is still at least ten times as evil as she could ever be.

He just smirks at me before standing up. "Anyway, lunch time is almost over. Let's get this shit-show on the road. I can't wait for the fuckin' weekend."

"Yeah, yeah," I say, following him to his feet.

Time for English.

In the classroom, Kenny is sitting in his usual spot. "Where's your boyfriend?" Cartman asks tauntingly, flopping into the seat next to him while I sit on the opposite side.

"He went home," Kenny says, opening his binder and turning to a fresh piece of loose-leaf. "He was bored."

"Was he upset?" I ask.

Kenny shrugs. "No, he was fine… just annoyed at how pathetic Eric was acting." Probably a lie, but I won't call him out on it.

"We all were," I murmur, peering at Cartman and giving him a disdainful look.

"Don't try to stop me from livin' my life," he says.

"I'm sure you can do it without being a tool," I retort.

* * *

After class, Cartman collects his shit and says, "Bye, fags," before leaving the room. Me and Kenny have our free last, thank Christ.

"He's fun today," Kenny says dryly.

"Yeah," I mutter. "So, hey… was Craig actually fine? Or was he upset but you just didn't want to give Cartman the satisfaction of knowing?"

Kenny wrinkles his nose. "Eric struck a nerve," he says vaguely. "Craig pretends it doesn't bother him, but it's obvious he isn't really proud of his history. He's been used a lot, I think."

"Ah," I murmur somewhat sadly. "Well… for what it's worth, I'm sorry, too. I was a little insensitive."

"I'm meeting Craig at Harbucks," Kenny says. "Want to come? You can say you're sorry to him there."

I shrug. "Fine."

We collect our school things and leave the building. "Ah, yeah… summer is definitely coming," Kenny says, staring up at the sky. He's right. The snow is mostly gone. "I'll have to ditch the parka soon enough. I don't want to get heat stroke."

"I can't wait to be done school," I say.

Kenny snickers. "But you fuckers all have more school in September."

"Blah," I groan. "What's your plan, then?"

"I'm going to get a job," he says proudly. "Fuck school. I fucking hate it."

"Yeah, it sucks," I agree.

Since South Park is small, it doesn't take us long to arrive at Harbucks. Kenny swings open the door and the two of us pile inside. Craig is sitting at a booth near the back, playing with his phone while two mugs of coffee sit in front of him. Once he notices us his lips part. "Oh," he says. "I didn't think anyone else was coming…"

"That's okay," I smile at him. "I can get myself a drink, don't worry 'bout it."

Kenny sits down next to Craig and gives him a peck on the cheek. They're a pretty attractive couple, really… and they seem to get each other. It's a bit weird, though. Especially because we're all used to hearing and seeing Craig act like a total ass.

I wait in line and order a small hot chocolate. I'm not a big coffee fan. I sit across from Craig and Kenny. "So," I start, "I wanted to say sorry."

"What for?" Craig asks, pocketing his phone and taking a long sip of his coffee.

"I was being a bitch," I say. "I kind of joined Cartman's banter by reacting in support to the shit he was saying."

Craig shrug. "S'fine. I already know what I am. It's nothing my own sister doesn't tell me daily."

"Harsh…" I murmur.

"Speaking of her… Ruby said you brought me home one night and she said I was upset," he mentions flatly. "I don't know what that was about because my memory of that is completely blank… but she said you were concerned. So, I'll say thank you for that."

I smile slightly. "I only remember part of that night," I say. "The part that I caught on film."

"Oh, yeah!" Kenny cuts in. "That was from the night I died, right?"

"Sounds about right," I say. I guess we all remember different parts of it, thanks to Kenny's curse. He remembers what happened before he died. Thanks to the video, we all remember what happened directly after and thanks to Ruby, we know what followed.

"So weird," Craig shakes his head.

"Yeah," I agree. "But again… I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "I don't care," he insists. "I hear shit like that all the damn time. I'm used to it."

"Still… it doesn't make any of it right," I reason. Plus, I know he's fucking lying. Kenny even said that Cartman struck a nerve.

"Whatever," Craig says dismissively. "I forgive you. It's pointless to hold grudges."

"Right," Kenny nods. "Besides, it doesn't matter. I had syphilis when I was like ten. Shit happens."

"You were ten and stupid," Craig murmurs. "I was seventeen and stupider."

"You're not stupid," Kenny says with a sigh. "Don't demean yourself."

Craig rolls his eyes, taking another sip of coffee.

"So, what're you guys drinking?" I ask in an attempt to lighten the conversation.

"Black coffee," Craig says.

"Oh," I nod. "And you, Kenny?"

"Sugar with a little coffee," he snickers.

"Right," I chuckle.

The conversation from here on becomes significantly less serious. I announce my departure after I'm finished my drink, not wanting to overstay my welcome. I wave at them before ditching my empty cup and leaving.


	29. KM: Tweek vs Craig

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.  
Fake plastic trees lyrics **© Radiohead. ****

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

"So," Eric deadpans. "Kyle is back where he belongs?"

Stan punches him in the gut. "Don't say shit like that, you dumb fuck. He doesn't _belong_ in there."

"Riiiight," Eric drawls. "Slim hips, perky tits and he still thinks he's fat as a beached whale."

"Stop being insensitive," I say wearily. "Besides, we don't even know what Kyle thinks. He's never told us, so shut up... Then again, maybe it's best you get it all out before we get there. The last thing we want is for you to say something stupid or mentalist. Make sure you watch your tongue in there."

We're visiting Kyle since we're finally allowed to. The mood changes when we enter the hospital. It's pretty stereotypical and the visiting room is even more so, but Kyle looks himself and he appears to be in good spirits. He's wearing a t-shirt and I see a fresh, round scar on his forearm. I'd like to ask, but I know I probably shouldn't. He's sitting at a table by himself, writing in what looks like a coiled note book. When he spots us, he closes the book and stands up. "How's it been?" I ask, giving him a hug.

"Quiet," he says as we separate. "Pleasantly quiet… They let me smoke. I don't even have to go outside to do it."

"That's good…" Stan says, who is the next to wrap his arms around Kyle.

Kyle nods into Stan's shoulder. "I think I needed some quiet time. I've been reading about meditating. Jewish meditation dates back thousands of years… I never knew that until yesterday." Fortunately, Eric doesn't make any Jew jokes.

"That's interesting," Stan says. "Do you think you'll get into meditation?"

"Maybe," he considers, moving away from Stan. "I'm definitely want to learn about it… Might be a good idea, huh?"

"Yeah," Stan agrees.

Kyle nods before turning to Eric and smirking. "Your turn," he says, opening his arms. Eric grimaces, but hugs Kyle nonetheless.

"How cute," I coo at them and Stan snickers.

"So, has being in this shit-hole been _insightful_?" Eric asks distastefully, crossing his arms once they've parted.

"Well," Kyle starts, "I came in hoping it would be… I mean, I'm trying. I'm being honest with my doctors and I'm not making a fuss. I mostly just sit around and read when we're not doing group activities."

"Group activities?" I pry.

He nods. "Art," he wrinkles his nose. "I hate drawing and painting… but they make us do it every second day. They tried to get me to draw a self-portrait… I tried, but just ended up getting upset."

"That's gay," Eric says.

"Yeah," Kyle sighs, "but it's not so bad… I'm really trying this time. I'm sick of being… well, _sick_…"

"No shit," Eric snorts.

"I feel bad for putting you guys through grief," he adds.

"Ah, don't be," I insist. "Just focus on you."

"They told me to write things down," he continues. "When I make myself sick or I _want_ to make myself sick, they said to get a journal or something and write down how I feel before, during and after… so that when I feel like that again, I might not go through with it. They also said I should get down my feelings when I have intrusive thoughts. So, that's what I've been doing. They told me to just… write out all be thoughts and feelings and when I feel numb, force myself to write and eventually things will start pouring out but it's hard and sometimes there's just a mantra in my head and I'll write the same fucking word down about two hundred times."

"Damn," I say.

"Mhm," he agrees, turning around and grabbing the notebook. He hands it to me, giving me free reign to glance through it. "I'm going to try to stop lying… They also said I should be more open, so… you guys can read it if you want to."

I offer him a sincere smile and simply nod as I open to the first page. There are no dates. Instead, the pages are just numbered and his perfect handwriting reads –

_I'm really fucking tired. I have to eat a specific amount of food every day, but it's really hard and I feel sick. I feel full and I hate that feeling more than anything. We're put on a schedule – a routine, but when I have nothing to do I sleep and when I sleep too much I get headaches but I'm too tired. Always fucking tired. _

The next page reads –

_Sometimes Stan will start talking to me. He'll be saying nice things and I know I should look happy and smile at him. He'll tell me how much he loves me... things like that. I should smile at him and tell him I love him too and I should be thankful… but I'll have to try so damn hard not to space out because I can't help but feel like they're words I don't deserve to hear, let alone say. But I still do. I do say those words, even though they're hard to get out sometimes. I just want to sink into the floor and go away for a while and I feel sorry. I still hear that voice in my head – the one that tells me to hate myself. It's always getting louder. _

The third page reads –

_They wanted me to draw myself. I couldn't' do that. I feel like it was stupid of them to even ask. Other people were drawing things, but none of the pictures looked like self portraits. Maybe I'll try later. _

_I feel like I'm holding my breath. I've been holding my breath since I stepped through the doors and leaving is going to be a sigh of relief. But I need to be honest, right? Otherwise nothing will change. At least, that's what everyone keeps telling me. _

_Sad sad sad day. _

I flip to the fourth page and there's a picture of a sad face with big, curly hair, black holes for eyes and bags beneath them with a ridiculously long nose. Beneath the drawings the word "me" is written and then crossed out. I think that's fucking sad as hell. "Kyle…" I murmur his name.

He glances at me. "I couldn't do it when they wanted me to draw myself… but I tried later. I just didn't want to share it with a bunch of strangers."

"Is this really how you see yourself?" I ask weakly, staring into his bright, green eyes and then back down onto the dead, lifeless eyes of his self-portrait.

He sighs at me. "Don't give me sympathy. I can hear it in your voice. Just… keep reading if you want. Don't comment. I'm not trying to make you guys feel bad, I just feel like… you deserve to know what's going through my head."

"Okay," I say quietly. Fair enough.

_eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat please eat please please please please make this easier _

I guess this is what he was scribbling down when we walked in.

"Do they have you on any drugs?" Stan asks as I close the scribbler.

Kyle shakes his head at the question. "They wanted to put me on something to lift my mood but I refused it."

"Good," Stan murmurs.

"Oh!" Kyle suddenly blurts out, sounding like he just remembered something important. "Did you check your mail recently, Stan?"

He shakes his head. "No… Why?"

"I got my acceptance letter from Boulder," Kyle says. "You might have yours by now, too."

"Oh!" Stan exclaims. "I'll check when I get home. Did you hear from any of the other schools you applied to?"

He nods. "I got into all of them," he smiles.

"Wow, congrats," Stan smiles back.

"Smart asshole," Eric murmurs.

"I'm probably going to Boulder," Kyle says. "It's closest… and I think the closer I am to home, the better."

Stan nods. "If I get accepted, I'll probably do the same."

"God dammit," Eric mutters. "I guess we'll be spending the next four years together then because I'm headed there as well. And I was really hoping to get away from you assholes."

"Liar," Stan calls him out. "You love us."

I smile at the three of them. "Make sure you losers visit as much as you can, all right?"

"Of course," Kyle grins.

I hand the scribbler to Stan, who wears a poker face the entire time. I commend him for that. I continue chatting up Kyle while the scribbler is passed to Eric, just so Kyle doesn't get antsy.

* * *

"He's fucked up," Eric mutters after the visit.

"Don't say that," Stan elbows him.

"It's fucking true," he mutters. "We all read through his thoughts. He's fucked up. You know it, I know it… he knows it."

"Still," Stan reasons. "Don't be a dick."

"Everyone is fucked up," I decide to add. "I'm fucked up, Stan is fucked up, Eric is immensely fucked up. Hell, Craig is fucked up, Tweek is fucked up, Annie is fucked up... even seemingly sane people like Clyde, Wendy and Bebe have some shit buried. Everyone has problems. That's life. It sucks, but that's life. It doesn't make us an less whole or any less human. So you guys should stop saying it like it's abnormal. I think it's pretty exceptionally ordinary to be fucked up. Maybe the abnormal people are the ones that _are_ completely sane... because to be honest, I don't think I know anyone who is perfectly sane. Everyone's got shit. Some are just better at keeping that shit buried."

"True," they relent in unison.

* * *

I spend the later portion of the day with Craig, just roaming around the town until we stop at Harbucks. Rather than getting coffee, we get tea. It's too late for caffeine and I doubt Craig needs more shit to keep him awake at night. Amirite.

Once we walk inside, I spot Tweek sitting at a booth with Kal. He's shaking and convulsing, gripping a cup of coffee like it holds the key to keeping him sane. Craig looks away, pretending not to notice. "Don't you miss him?" I ask.

"No," Craig murmurs.

"Don't lie," I call him out.

Craig lets out a sigh. "Shut up, Kenny."

"Fine." I roll my eyes and say, "Go sit down and I'll get you something that'll make you sleepy."

Craig nods, grabbing a booth at the opposite end of where Tweek is sitting. I roll my eyes before ordering two chamomile teas. I put sugar in mine, but Craig likes to keep things plain-Jane. "Here," I say, putting the drink down on the table before taking the seat across from him.

He nods his thanks, taking the cover off and letting it cool down.

"Go talk to Tweek," I suggest. "I know you want to."

"He's a fucking crack-head," Craig mutters before taking a slow sip.

"Meth," I correct, doing the same.

"Whatever," he shrugs. "It's all the same sick shit. He probably does it all. Sometimes when we'd hang out, he'd go to the bathroom and snort drugs. I've seen him cut lines in his bedroom. He gets seizures now because of it and his parents still keep telling everyone it's just ADD when they're the ones putting shit in their son's coffee to keep him _alert_."

"I know," I murmur. Tweek got a seizure in class once when we were sixteen and Eric took a fucking video and posted that shit on Facebook. The fat ass got suspended because of it, fortunately. "Stan told me Kyle did cocaine with Tweek once," I add.

"Shit," Craig snorts. "That's weird as fuck."

"Yeah," I sigh, "but when shit gets rough, you can't just abandon your friends. I mean, come on, Craig. I know that wasn't the reason you ditched him. I've spoken to him about it. You probably have a lot of regret, don't you? Well, look… He's right there. He's right fucking there! You can make things right again."

"Not everything can be fixed," Craig says simply.

"Sometimes friendships can be, though," I reason. "So, go to talk him."

Craig shakes his head, but suddenly Tweek turns around and stares at us both before standing up. Kal does the same, giving him a hug before leaving the cafe. A moment later, with his coffee in hand, Tweek turns down the aisle and approaches our table. "Fuck," Craig whispers.

"I can hear you both talking about me," Tweek says, bemused. "You're not being very quiet."

I smile at him. "Hey, Tweek."

"Kenny," he greets, shuddering slightly.

"Go to fucking rehab," Craig murmurs.

"Shame," Tweek sighs, "and I thought you were going to apologize."

"Why should I?" Craig asks, sipping on his tea.

Tweek lets out a hoarse laughs. "I guess I don't need one. Be my friend if you want, Craig… but don't try to tell me what to do with my life. It's mine… just like yours is yours. I never told you how to live your life, even when you were getting STDs from letting strangers gangbang you and face-fuck you t'their hearts content. That was your damn business, yeah? Well, this is my damn business."

I cringe at that, not bothering to cut in and tell Tweek to back off because I know for a fact he's just as sexually crazed as Craig is. He fucks like he's on acid. He's the definition of power bottom.

People are staring as they continue to argue with one another. I think they've forgotten that they're not the only ones in here.

"You're dying," Craig says. "Literally… you're killing yourself and I don't want to be friends with someone who is doing that."

For me, this is what makes it click. Craig's worst fear is the death of those he cares about and that is why he can't be around Tweek.

"Hypocrite," Tweek mutters. "Clyde told me about your suicide attempt. We all know he can't keep a secret worth shit. Token knows, too. That's why they're so fucking patient with you. They pity you. Boohoo, poor Craig saw his mom buy the farm and now he's all bipolar and depressed and shit."

"No, I'm not," Craig bites.

Tweek just scoffs. "My ass! It's obvious something is really fucking wrong with you. You fuck people and fuck around with people and you're self-destructive as hell. You're such a fucking cliché. It makes me want to throw up."

I listen to their exchange as I drink my tea. Craig looks angry, like he might start a fight. "Uh," I decide to cut in before things get heated. "If this is going to get loud or violent, we should probably take it outside."

"I'm fine with that," Tweek says, finishing his coffee before slamming the cup onto our table. "But I don't think it's necessary."

"Are you high right now?" I ask, staring at his pupils. Sober Tweek would never be such a blunt asshole.

"A bit," he admits, shrugging.

I let out a sigh, standing up and abandoning my half empty cup. "Come on," I urge Craig to his feet and drag the two of them out of Harbucks.

"Where are we going?" Craig asks warily.

I drag them to a nearby park. It's quiet and there's no one around. "Have at it," I say, letting them both go.

"I'm not going to –" Craig starts to say, but Tweek shoves him before he can finish his sentence. Craig falls backwards onto the grass and when he gets up, he gets angry. Since they clearly can't talk it out, maybe it's best they fight. Just like when they were little kids. Craig punches him square in the face and Tweek doesn't hesitate to retaliate.

I roll my eyes, sitting down on a nearby bench as they deck it out. I wait a few minutes… then a few more minutes… and then a few more. Eventually, they begin to tire. Once their hits get sloppy, I stand up. "You guys are really stupid," I say, staring at both their bloody faces.

Craig wipes his bloody nose off as he mean-mugs me. The fighting stops, but Tweek isn't quite finished with Craig yet. "Are you two an item now?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, patting Craig on the shoulder.

Tweek laughs at that. "How funny…" he murmurs. "You guys make quite a pair."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Craig bites.

"Did Kenny tell you he fucked me?" Tweek asks Craig offhandedly and I pale somewhat, not wanting this to put a damper on anything.

"No," Craig says tersely. "It never came up."

"Well," Tweek shrugs, "it happened. Twice."

"How nice." Craig's voice is laced in sarcasm and Tweek can tell he doesn't want to hear anymore.

"Your boyfriend fucked me," Tweek announces.

"Shut up," Craig mutters.

"Your boyfriend fucked me!" he raises his voice.

"Shut up!" Craig does the same.

"Your boyfriend fucked me! Your boyfriend fucked me! Your boyfriend fucked me!" Tweek begins shouting.

"SHUT UP!" Craig screams and it's the loudest I've ever heard his voice go.

For a moment, everyone is quiet… and then Tweek starts to laugh again. "Ah…" he sighs. "You're jealous. I never thought I'd see the day… Hm."

"Fuck you," Craig sneers at him, he swipes at his nose again, but it just keeps bleeding.

"Come on… try talking it out again," I plead, cutting in. This isn't going how I wanted it to go.

"Not until he's fucking sober," Craig bites.

Tweek lets out a loud groan. "Come see me tomorrow, then. I'm going home." Without waiting for a response, he begins walking off, leaving the park gates.

I look at Craig and say, "We're going to see him tomorrow, whether you like it or not."

"Fine," Craig murmurs, not bothering to fight me on it.

"Hell, I wonder how high he was," I muse aloud. "The Tweek I know never would have said shit like that."

"Hm," Craig mutters. "He's mean."

"You can be worse," I reason.

"Whatever," he whispers.

I put my arm around him and say, "You're not mad, are you?"

"Why would I be?" he asks. "I'm not a hypocrite. You've fucked lots of people and so have I. It's not a damn secret…"

"I guess," I relent.

I walk him home after and we don't mention Tweek again once we leave the park. The walk is silent. It's dark by now and a little chilly outside, even though summer is almost here.

When we reach Craig's house, we still stay quiet. I go upstairs with him and sit on the counter as he washes his face in the sink. "You can go home," he says to me, drying his face with a wash cloth.

"You'll probably have a bruise," I tell him, grabbing his face and examining it closely. "He hit you pretty hard."

"Whatever," he mutters, taking a step back and moving out of my reach.

I hope off of the counter and he walks me back downstairs. I give him a peck on the lips before going and he lets out a pained sound. I draw back and he holds his nose. "Does it hurt?" I ask.

"Like fuck," he murmurs with a sigh.

I smile somewhat piteously, though I try not to.

"Go home," he says again. "I'm fine."

I nod, grabbing my parka and putting on my shoes before opening the door. I'm gone without another word.

* * *

The following day is a Sunday. Craig and me make our way to Tweek's house. His mother lets us in, seeming blissfully oblivious as always. Tweek's parents are both huge potheads. It'd be obvious even if you couldn't smell it.

We go upstairs and knock on Tweek's bedroom door before opening it. It creaks and as we step inside, we see him sitting on his bed with his head in his hands.

"Did you just wake up or something?" I ask.

"Mm…" he groans.

"Lay off the chalk, dude," I say lightly.

"Sh…" He rubs his temples a few times before reaching into his nightstand a getting pulling out a container of pills. He pops a few and lies back down. "So, what's up?" he asks us.

"Er, well…" I start. "You told us to drop by, remember? You said it last night."

"Ah, right…" he murmurs, pulling the blanket up to his chin. "I'm sorry. I was out of line… I was _really_ out of line."

"S'fine…" Craig says.

"You said things I didn't want to hear," Tweek continues, "so I said things you didn't want to hear."

"Fair is fair," Craig mutters. He takes a few steps towards the bed. "How long have you been full-on addicted to the hard shit?"

"About a year," Tweek says with a sigh, "maybe more… I don't really know. The time kind of blends together… but I've always experimented."

"You can already see the physical signs," Craig notes cautiously.

Tweek smiles faintly. "I know…" He raises one of his arms and pulls up his sleeve, revealing a series of scabs where he's picked at his skin. I can't help but cringe. It looks painful. The thought of it makes me shudder.

Craig sits down on the edge of the mattress. "If you keep doing it, you'll get wrinkles and even worse sores on your face. You'll get meth-mouth and your teeth will rot out. Your hair will fall out, too."

Tweek sighs once more. "You're not telling me anything I don't already know."

"Then why do you keep doing it?" Craig asks, but Tweek only shrugs.

"Look," I cut in, approaching the two of them. "Kyle just signed himself into the hospital for help. You could do the same."

"Nah," Tweek dismisses the idea. "I prefer to rot away."

"Think about it," Craig says weakly.

"Fine," Tweek murmurs. "So, does this mean we're friends again?"

"I suppose so," Craig shrugs.

"Okay," Tweek whispers, closing his eyes. "Hey… if I did go to the hospital, would you visit me?"

"Yeah," Craig promises.

Christ, I feel bad for the both of them. They both need help, yet they refuse it. I don't think they'll ever accept what they desperately need.

I slip out of the room, allowing them to have time alone. I text Craig, telling him I'm gone home and a few minutes later, he replies telling me he'll drop by my place later on. I hope he spends the day with Tweek because, God knows, they both need it.

* * *

I spend most of the day in my room, surfing the net and listening to my music. Everyone thinks I have pretty bad taste in tunes, but I don't care. I like what I like.

In the late evening, I talk to Stan on Facebook for a little while. Apparently, he went to see Kyle again today.

KENNY MCCORMICK: _How's he doing?_

STANLEY R. MARSH: _Good, I think! He seemed in good spirits, but I don't know if he's just trying to ease our worrying or if he's honestly doing okay._

KENNY MCCORMICK: _Yeah, I guess there isn't a sure-fire way of knowing that._

STANLEY R. MARSH: _Yeah… but anyway, how's Craig?_

KENNY MCCORMICK: _Your concern is cute. He's okay. We saw Tweek last night and the two of them had a pretty intense fist fight._

STANLEY R. MARSH: _Just like old times._

KENNY MCCORMICK: _Exactly. Tweek was pretty high, though. Anyway, Craig is with him now and they seemed to have patched things up. I think Craig has opened his eyes a lot this year. _

STANLEY R. MARSH: _Probably thanks to your constant annoyances._

KENNY MCCORMICK: _Haha! Nah, bro. It's all Craig. A person can't change unless they're willing. I guess Craig, deep down, was willing. Someone just had to pull the desire out of him 'cause it was buried pretty deep._

STANLEY R. MARSH: _Clearly._

KENNY MCCORMICK: _It was buried deep… in his ass._

STANLEY R. MARSH: _Dude, TMI. I bet you had no problem digging it out._

KENNY MCCORMICK: _LOL._

STANLEY R. MARSH: _He seems nicer these days._

KENNY MCCORMICK: _I know. I hope it stays that way._

STANLEY R. MARSH: _It will. The worst is over. _

KENNY MCCORMICK: _Yeah! I can't wait for summer! It's going to be so good._

STANLEY R. MARSH: _Hell yeah!_

I get giddy thinking about it. I already have it all planned out in my head. I'm being realistic about it, too. I know all my dreams aren't going to come true right away. My plan is to get a job. I'll probably have to work in crappy conditions for a while with a crappy pay to top it off, but that's okay. I'll keep the job and I'll work hard. I don't mind doing something a little undesirable. As long as I have things to look forward to and things that make me happy, I can smile.

* * *

Around 9PM, there's a knock on our door. Since Karen is downstairs, I let her answer it. A moment later, she shrieks my name. "Kenny, Craig is here!"

"Send him up!" I yell back. My laptop is still open as Craig saunters into my room and I immediately ask him how things went with Tweek.

He shrugs. "Good, I guess…" Vague answers, like always.

"Well, that's good," I say, not bothering to pry. I can tell he's being honest. If something went wrong, I think I'd be able to tell. I feel like I know him well enough by now.

He takes off his sweater and sits next to me on my shitty mattress. "What've you been doing?"

"Not much," I tell him. "Just surfin' the net a bit." My music is playing from my iTunes and Craig doesn't look too thrilled to be seeing what I listen to. "_Don't you hate a shy bitch? Yeah I ate a shy bitch. She ain't shy no more. She changed her name to my bitch_," I rap along to Lil Wayne's crude lyrics, just to annoy him.

"Gross," Craig grimaces.

"Heh," I snicker, bumping my shoulder into his. "Are you my bitch, Craig?"

"Nah," he says, straight-faced. "I'm _everyone's_ bitch. An ass this fine can't belong to just one guy."

I feel my jaw drop. "Oh, wow." I can't help but laugh, even though the joke is kind of sad and it's at his expense.

He cracks a small smile, grabbing my laptop from me "You have a way different taste in music than I would've guessed," he murmurs, flicking through my playlist. "Classified, Drake, Eminem, Macklemore, Nicki Minaj… You're a rap fan, huh?"

"Yeah," I snort. "So, apart from Radiohead, who do you listen to?" I ask.

"I don't know," he shrugs. "I guess I also like Fleetwood Mac… I like more mellow stuff."

"Hmm… Y'know," I say, "I've never even listened to any of their shit."

"They're good," he insists, opening a new window on Chrome and YouTube-ing "Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead. He shuts my iTunes before pressing play. Closing his eyes, he says, "Listen to the lyrics."

I watch Craig. He looks thoughtful. A moment later, I force myself to close my eyes and concentrate on the song.

_My fake plastic love  
__But I can't help the feeling  
__I could blow through the ceiling  
__If I just turn and run_

I wonder if he's trying to tell me something by making me listen to these lyrics.

_It wears me out, it wears me out  
__It wears me out, it wears me out  
__If I could be who you wanted  
__If I could be who you wanted all the time…_

But nonetheless, I just open my eyes and smile. When Craig opens his eyes, he's smiling too. It's a strange, little smile. But still, I don't ask questions. The song ends and Craig puts on another song, once again forcing me to listen to the lyrics. I don't understand why. I don't know whether he just wants to show me something he connects with, or if he's trying to mind-fuck me again. I hope it's not the latter.

After a few more songs, he closes my laptop. "You look confused," he says.

"I am," I admit.

"Why?" he asks softly, looking almost mournful.

"Why'd you show me those songs?" I question.

He sets my laptop on the floor next to my mattress and for a moment he says nothing. He lets out a breath and glances at me. "Why do you think I showed them to you?" he asks. "To fuck with you?"

"I hope not," I say.

He laughs and it's just as bitter as every other time he's done it. "I'm not trying to mess with your head," he promises. "I'm done doing that… but I am trying to tell you something."

"Please don't say this is the end," I cut in weakly.

"No," he murmurs. "Just lemme talk for a sec, yeah?"

I nod, "Okay."

"There's a lot of romanticized bullshit about sex," he starts, staring at nothing in particular. "People think that when you're naked and exposed and spread out like that, you're vulnerable. People think it has to mean something… it doesn't, though. For me, that hasn't been the case for a long fucking time. When I was over or under someone else, I wouldn't feel vulnerable. I like being naked in that sense. I don't feel exposed. I don't really feel anything at all. Mentally, I liked to keep myself closed up. Physically, I did the opposite. By fucking people, I could fuck _with_ them. That kept them away and in turn, I was able to keep myself closed off. No one tried to get to know me. Then you came along and tried so fucking hard to do exactly that. I didn't get why you tried the way you did. No one else bothered. But I guess that made you special. I decided I'd humour you for a while. Then I got attached, so I decided to end things before they started. I tried really fucking hard to hurt you, yet you kept forgiving me. I probably hurt you more than any other person… but you forgave me…" He pauses, eyebrows drawing together. "Why did you do that?" he asks, glancing at me.

"Because humans are weak," I say, hoping that doesn't offend him. "When they're scared, they do stupid things. They rarely think rationally. I know that you were trying to hurt me to protect yourself. It was a dick move, but I can forgive it. I can empathize."

He nods his head lightly, staring down at his hands. "The songs I showed you…" he continues. "They're important. They resonate with me, so I decided to show them to you. To me, that's vulnerability. It's... talking about things you don't usually talk about. It's showing somebody what you hold close and even though you're laying yourself out like that, you're not as worried as you might be if it was any other person." He pauses for a moment before continuing, "I don't talk to people. I never really have. Even Clyde... he's my best friend, but I never tell him things. You're different, though. I talk to you. Even though you force the words out sometimes, I feel at ease after I'm done talking. I now know you're not about to throw it back in my face."

I smile softly. "So…"

Craig sighs. "I'm saying that I don't want to keep disappointing you. I'm saying that I'll be good," he murmurs. "I'm saying I love you."

I open my mouth to reply, but the words get stuck in my throat. Instead, I grin at him. I know how hard it must have been for him to say it in the first place. "I fuck… I fucking love you, too," I say after euphoria subsides.

"I know," he insists. "Anyway, I should go home… there's school tomorrow."

"Since when do you give a fuck?" I snort.

He smiles wearily. "Yeah, you're right."

"Stay the night," I suggest. I don't want to let him go just yet - especially now that he was finally able to get the words out.

"All right," he agrees. He leans back and lifts his hips, shrugging out of his jeans and boxers before lifting his t-shirt off. Following his lead, I take my own clothes off and once we're bare I pull the blankets over our bodies.

We don't have sex. Instead, we just lie down and sleep together. Sleep, in the simplest sense of the word with our tired limbs tangled.


	30. SM: Goodnight

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Stan's POV**

* * *

Come September, me and Kyle and Cartman will be off to Boulder, Colorado. I got accepted. Fuck yeah.

Kyle left the hospital yesterday, just in time for exam week. I didn't go with his parents to pick him up. I offered to be there for him, but he just shrugged me off and said not to worry about it. I think there's been progress. At least, I hope there was. I went to visit him every day I could. Christ, he's been through so much shit this year. In fact, his entire high school experience was pretty rotten. I feel really bad because the crappiest things always happen to the people who least deserve it. Life sucks like that and it's not fair, but Kyle seems lighter now. I think that once he accepted the fact that he needed help, he was able to put things into a new perspective for himself. He's smiling more lately, too.

I'm on my way to his house now. This will be my first time seeing him since he came home.

When I get there, I walk right in without bothering to knock. It's pretty quiet, so I don't think Kyle's parents are home, and Ike doesn't seem to be here either. I go to Kyle's room, but I don't see him in it. "Kyle?" I shout. "Kyle!"

A moment later, I hear a faint, "Stan?"

I leave his bedroom, opening the bathroom door. "Oh, you're in here," I say. He's sitting in the tub and after I open the door he draws his legs to his chest and wraps his arms around them. "Stan…" His voice breaks when he says my name, but I doubt it means anything special because his voice breaks a lot. I think it's an anxiety thing. "Dude… get out," he says with an awkward laugh.

I don't. Instead, I sit on the floor, up against the sink cupboards. Kyle narrows his eyes at me and I look down at the tiles so he doesn't call me out for staring. "I didn't think you liked baths," I say, glancing at him with my peripheral vision.

"I don't," he admits, relaxing slightly. "It's like… bathing in your own dirt. I showered first."

Of course. "Oh, I see."

"How are your parents?" he asks, shifting and leaning with his back against the shower wall.

"My mom seems to be doing better," I tell him. "My parents are finally acting civil again. I guess all they needed to fix things was to separate. Now that they aren't together, they don't really have any reason to fight one another. I'm just hoping my dad doesn't fuck it up again."

"Yeah," Kyle says softly. He's fully aware at how absent minded my dad can be. There's no point in trying to say otherwise. "Why are you here, Stan?" he asks. "I mean… not just… in _here_, but at my house?"

"I don't even know," I admit. "I just felt like it. I wanted to check on you."

"Stan…" he gives me an exasperated look and I can tell he's about to say something I don't want to hear, but we're interrupted. Kenny and Cartman pile in through the unlocked door and Kyle is fuming. "Sure," he snaps cynically, "Come on in! Meeting in the bathtub! Come in, everyone! Come in!"

"Chill, dude," I say.

"I'm fucking naked, if you all haven't noticed!" he growls.

I shrug. "So, what? You have nothing to be ashamed of." Plus, it's not like we all haven't seen each other naked a hundred times before. Three words: locker room showers. What a sausage fest.

Kyle looks moody and irritated. Kenny sees this and decides to take off his own clothing. "What the fuck are you doing?" Kyle mutters warily, not all that surprised because Kenny has always been somewhat of an exhibitionist.

"Now we're both in our birthday suits," Kenny says, sitting in the bath next to Kyle, who looks like he isn't sure whether he should laugh or tell Kenny to fuck off. "Don't worry," the blond winks, "I showered today. I won't dirty up the tub."

"Wow," Cartman deadpans. "This is literally the gayest thing I've ever witnessed."

"Then you clearly haven't been around Stan and Kenny all that much earlier on in the year," Kyle murmurs dryly.

"So I've heard," Cartman snorts.

Kenny grins and throws an arm around Kyle, pulling him close. He's probably trying to get a rise out of the fat ass. Maybe he's trying to get a rise out of me, too.

"So, why are you all here?" Kyle asks, raising a brow, allowing himself to settle in Kenny's hold.

"We just wanted to check up on you," Kenny says. "Well… I did. Cartman just kind of tagged along."

"Naturally," Kyle mutters. Cartman then smirks, looking frighteningly devious. He pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and Kyle's eyes widen at the potentiality of what may occur. "Don't you dare," he warns the fat ass.

But before Kyle can even hope to make himself decent, Cartman holds up the camera and _click_. He snickers, looking at the screen before shoving it in my face. "Aw," I say. "It's not a bad picture, you know." In the photo, Kenny has a big grin on his face while holding up his middle finger. Kyle's lips are parted and he looks like a little stunned, but still cute.

"Lemme see," Kenny says and Cartman holds the phone in front of him. "Nice," he laughs. "I like it."

Kyle just rolls his eyes. "So, Kenny… Have you succeeded in courting Craig yet?"

"I think I finally did," Kenny says. "He told me he loved me."

"That's good," Kyle smiles.

A moment later, the bathroom door creaks open yet again and this time it's Kyle's parents. "Jesus Christ!" Kyle snaps, covering his face with his hands.

"What what _what_!" Sheila exclaims.

"We just got home and we heard voices…" Gerald starts, clearing his throat and averting his eyes uncomfortably.

"Hi!" Kenny grins and waves at them.

"Hi, Sheila," I mutter, "Gerald."

"Hello," Cartman greets sweetly.

"Uh," Sheila pauses. "Hello, boys… it's nice to see you're keeping Kyle company."

"What are friends for?" Kenny asks, still grinning. He has no fucking shame, I swear. Sheila gives a tight smile in return before leaving with Gerald, closing the door as they go.

"Kahl's blushing," Cartman points out with a snicker.

"For fuck's sake, shut up," Kyle mutters.

"I think that was kind of awkward for all of us," Cartman admits. "Except maybe Kinny…"

"I'm not shy," Kenny shrugs.

"Naturally," Kyle rolls his eyes.

We continue to chatter amongst each other for a good fifteen minutes until Kyle asks, "When are you guys going to leave? I want to get out. My fingers are all wrinkly." He stares down at his hands, frowning.

"If you wanna kick us out, we'll leave now," Kenny says, standing up. "We just wanted to check in."

"It's appreciated," Kyle tells them, pulling the plug and waiting for the water to drain.

I hand Kenny a towel and he quickly dries off before putting his clothes back on. "Bye, guys!" he waves to me and Kyle before leaving with Cartman.

"Kenny seems to have gotten some of his pep back," I note once they're gone.

"Yeah," Kyle agrees, getting out of the tub. "He's probably happy about the Craig thing." _The Craig Thing_… That's what it's now known as. What a long and painful ordeal it must've been. I don't know how I'd feel if Kyle were to have done the things Craig did. Would I have gone that far for him? It's hard to say... but probably. So I guess I can understand it.

"Well, that's good," I say, handing him a towel. "Everyone deserves to be happy."

Kyle dries off, wrapping the towel around his waist and leaving the bathroom. I follow him back into his bedroom, where he briskly slips into a fresh change of clothing. "Don't watch me," he says knowingly, turning his back to me as he gets dressed.

Nonetheless, I can't bring myself to look away. He's just… so… "You're beautiful," I tell him. "Seriously."

He scoffs lightly, pulling on a pair of khakis and an argyle sweater. "Shut up, man."

"I mean it," I say sincerely but Kyle just rolls his eyes.

"You should get going, Stan," he says. "You've checked on me. You've seen that I'm fine."

"What?" I ask. "So, is this how it's going to be from now on? Just because we aren't together, it doesn't mean we have to act so rigid. You've been rigid for a while."

"I know," he murmurs, pausing. "I'm… I'm just sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted."

"You're all I wanted," I shrug. "Nothing else."

"I won't make you happy," he tells me. "I'll bring you down. You need something better than me."

"Don't say shit like that…" I say. "It's not true. Is this why you don't want to be with me? It's okay to be selfish sometimes, Kyle..."

He forces a smile, but doesn't answer the question. "Again, sorry, Stan."

* * *

I left shortly after, sensing that Kyle didn't want me around anymore. It's getting late now, slowly approaching the new day. I'm in my room by myself, lying in bed and trying to fall asleep but it's hard to sleep when I feel this bad. My chest kind of aches. I let out a sigh, getting out of bed. I put on a pair of pajama pants over my shorts along with a t-shirt and socks. Downstairs, I grab my jacket, my hat and slip my sneakers on before creeping out of the house. I walk with purpose until I reach Kyle's place. I avoid the front door since it's late, moving to the back of his house and digging around in the snow until I find a small rock. I'm sure Kyle is still awake. There's a dim light coming from his window. It's probably his night-lamp. He's probably reading.

I toss the little pebble at his window Romeo style and a moment later, he's standing in front of it with a strange look on his face. He opens it and asks, "Stan, what the fuck? Do you know what time –"

"I love you!" I shout, cutting him off. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!" I shout the words until I run out of breath.

"Stan…" he murmurs, staring off at a tree to avoid my gaze. "Please…"

"I love you!" I shout again. "I love you, I love you, I fucking _love_ you!"

"Shhh! Okay!" he hisses back, slamming his window shut and disappearing. Just when I think I got rejected again, I hear someone stomping through the snow nearby. I see Kyle in a sweatshirt and his boots, making his way towards me from the front of the house. "Hey," I softly greet as we stand in front of one another.

He rolls his eyes at me, but he's smiling nonetheless. "So, I hear you kinda love me," he says.

I chuckle. "Yeah, I might."

His smile widens and he starts to laugh, small puffs of white smoke leaving his mouth. "This was quite the confession, Stanley Marsh. Gonna write me a poem, too? Maybe a little song or a sonnet?"

"If you want me to," I laugh along with him.

He softens, shivering slightly. I unzip my jacket, opening it and allowing him to step closer. He leans against me and I wrap the jacket around the both of us. "Ah, you're warm," he murmurs.

"I'm sorry," I tell him suddenly.

"What for?" he asks.

"Doing so many stupid things," I say vaguely, knowing he'll understand.

"That's okay," he sighs. "I kind of expected something like this to happen. I mean… it was a little too perfect, wasn't it? Something bad was bound to ruin it. We both screwed up."

"It was mostly me," I mutter the admission. "I'm stupid and I don't think about things."

"I was melodramatic," he argues. "I didn't give myself a minute to think and I just jumped to the worst possible conclusion."

"It was understandable," I insist. "Don't worry."

"Okay," he relents. His hands slowly wrap around my back, fisting the material of my shirt. "What now?"

"Whatever you want," I tell him.

"Can we start over?" he asks in a soft and small voice. "Please...?"

"Yeah, I'd like that," I say breathlessly. "Yeah, I'd really fucking like that…"

"Me, too." We break apart a moment later. Kyle wraps his arms around himself and we silently walk to the front of his house. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?" he asks.

I give a firm nod. I reach forward and grab his face in my hands, kissing the top of his head. "Bye," I say, turning away.

"Wait…" he murmurs, grabbing my arm.

"Hm?" I ask, turning back around to face him.

"Right here," he says, pointing to his lips. I smile, leaning forward and pressing my mouth to his. When we part, he's smiling, too.

"Goodnight, Kyle," I say.

"Goodnight, Stan."


	31. KM: Here we go

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**Graduation sucks ass, tbh. During my high school grad ceremony, I ran off the stage I got so nervous. Then they had to call me back up so I could accept my stuff. I ended up winning a lot of money, though, so that was cool and it kind of made up for the fact that I made a total tart of myself in front of like a thousand people. **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

Things are unbelievably good and I'm just waiting for it all to turn to shit. I'm waiting for Craig to get scared again, or tell me to fuck off, but then I mentally hit myself for being negative. Negativity won't do me any damn good. I need to stay positive. For everyone's sake, including my own, I need to stay positive.

We're graduating tomorrow morning. Exams were last week and they kicked my ass, but I passed! We all passed. Honestly, I'm surprised Craig didn't fail anything. I wonder how he did it because I can't even recall the last full day he spent at school. He must be pretty smart, since he didn't even study. He just showed up in his pyjamas, looking completely bored.

Oh, well. It's over now! In a matter of hours we'll be completely fucking free from this shitty institution. It's finally summertime. It's cause for celebration. We all did it. We made it. We're done high school. Kyle was elected valedictorian. He's nervous, but we all know he'll be all right. Stan is the only one who has heard his speech. When tomorrow comes, we'll all be hearing it for the first time.

I think most of the graduating class is going to be hung-over for the ceremony, but not us. We'll save that for tomorrow because I don't think any of us want to puke on stage. It'd be memorable, but an event like that might take a few years to become funny.

The prom was tonight. I literally had to dress and drag Craig there. He hates this kind of stuff. Everyone looked so fancy. The boys all wore dark suits and the girls all wore pretty dresses… Well, apart from Wendy. She also wore a suit and came with Lola. I thought that was sweet.

Stan and Kyle came together. They were holding hands when they entered the decorated gymnasium. The secret is out. I think they find that relieving. When everyone saw them, there was hardly any shock.

I had to buy a cheap suit second hand. It had tears in it, but Craig sewed it up for me, making it good as new. We socialized for most of the night, but I finally got Craig to agree to dance with me. It was the night's last dance – a slow song. I held him against me and we just swayed back and forth.

Now me, Craig, Kyle, Stan, Eric, Bebe, and Clyde are all sitting around in my room. It's crowded and everyone is still in their formal wear, but they don't seem to mind. We're listening to music and talking about all the shit that's happened through the year. We invited Tweek to come along, but he didn't end up showing. No one seems to know where he is, even his parents. All I can do is hope he's not dead in a ditch, but if he keeps this up it'll be inevitable. Craig is probably thinking the same damn thing. He's sitting on my lap and I think everyone in the room is relieved we're finally content and the drama is done. He feels small when I hold him like this.

"Kenny came in like a wrecking ball," Clyde says with a little snicker and Craig shakes his head at the pop culture reference as his middle finger rises.

I can't help but laugh, but I immediately force myself to sober. "Dude, you did _not_ just make that joke."

Clyde just grins. "I did… and you're the one who laughed."

"Ugh," I groan at myself.

* * *

Later on in the night, after everyone leaves, Craig stays. "It's weird," he says softly.

"What is?" I ask, flopping onto my mattress.

He lies down next to me and explains, "We're finished high school. It feels like I blinked, and suddenly ten years passed. We're no longer eight years old."

"I know," I laugh. "It's almost sad, isn't it?"

"Mm," he muses.

"You're not going to walk across the stage with the rest of us, huh?" I assume.

"No," he says. "I hate that shit. I don't like being the center of attention."

"I do," I snicker.

"I know," he sounds amused. "I'll bring Ruby and your siblings along. We'll go watch you walk across the stage."

"Thanks," I tell him sincerely.

"Mhm," he says.

"I don't feel like an adult," I admit.

"Me neither," says Craig.

"I mean," I start, "I know I've experienced a lot in my short amount of years – probably a lot more than most adults have experienced… but I still can't call myself a man. I still feel like a boy."

"It's okay," he laughs lightly at my declaration. "Maybe we're not supposed to feel like men. I'm sure we're not the only ones feeling like this."

"Probably," I agree. "Nonetheless, it's pretty strange. We've spent our lives being told what to do, and then _bang_, we turn eighteen and have to decide what we want to do for the rest of our lives. None of us know how to do taxes. None of us know a damn thing about credit or paying bills. None of us know about the shit that matters."

"We'll learn," Craig promises. "Don't worry about that stuff right now."

I let out a sigh. "I'm going to get a job, since I'm not going to school. I'm going to get a job, save my money, and get the hell out of my parents' house. It might take a while, but that's my goal."

"I'll do that, too. I never applied to university," Craig says.

"Good," I grin.

He shifts, moving on top of me and sitting on my abdomen. "You'll never leave, right?" he asks, staring down at me.

"Of course not," I promise. I rake my hands up his clothed thighs and beneath the fabric of his untucked shirt.

"Good," he says.

I sit up and he slides down onto my lap. He leans forward and pecks me on the lips before drawing back. He stands, moving to the center of the room and removing the white, button down shirt, his slacks, his shorts. I watch, mouth dry. "Get back over here," I say once he's naked. He gives me a look of amusement, but doesn't budge just yet. "Tease," I whine.

Craig chuckles at that, slowly approaching me and sitting on my lap once more. He places an open-mouthed kiss on my lips and I cup his face on my hands. "Do they still hurt?" I ask, putting a thumb in his mouth and touching the metal on his teeth.

He shakes his head. "Ignore them," he says.

"Why? I think they're cute," I admit.

He rolls his eyes. "How sweet," he says, mocking me.

I just smile, allowing my palms to move up and down his stomach. "So, we gonna fuck, or what?"

"Hmmm…" he muses thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side.

"Tease," I repeat myself and he smiles slightly, reaching for the button to my pants. He undoes it with a _click_ and down goes the zipper. He gets off my lap, settling between my legs. I lie back and I lift my hips as he pulls my pants and shorts down mid-thigh.

He touches me with his hands first, then I feel his mouth and damn, it feels good.

"Can I take a picture of you?" I ask out of the blue.

He removes my hard dick from his mouth and says, "Okay."

"Are you sure?"

He nods. "I don't mind since you asked."

"Have people not asked before?" I wonder.

"Yeah, people are shit," he says before going back down on me.

"That's weak of them." I reach for my phone and open to the camera setting, raising it. _Click_. I stare at the screen, opening my photos and clicking the most recent file. It's a pretty damn good one. His eyes are closed, his brows are drawn together and my boner is halfway in his mouth. Not to sound perverse, but it's a pretty nice angle. Some people look funny with a dick in their mouth, but Craig looks pretty good. Maybe that's a dirty thing to say about a person, but it's true. "Hey, do you like bottoming?" I ask offhandedly, putting my phone down and looking back at Craig, who is still giving me head.

He removes my dick from his mouth again and says, "Yeah. It feels good. I've only ever topped with girls, though. Never with a man. I don't know what it'd feel like… if it would be any different."

"Wanna find out now?" I offer. "I've never bottomed with a guy. Just with Bebe."

"Really?" he looks mildly surprised. "You'd let me…?"

"Yeah, of course," I say.

"Well, okay… yeah. Yeah, I want to do that."

He sits up and so do I. I remove my shirt and pull my pants and shorts down the rest of the way.

At first, Craig is cautious, as if he's worried he might accidentally do something wrong, but I don't mind if he does. "Good?" he asks.

"Good," I say, smiling up at him. It's a distantly familiar sensation. It's been a long time since I had something up there.

I love him. I really fucking love him, but I don't say it as much as I'd like to because I don't want him to get overwhelmed. However, I know that someday I'll be able to say it as much as I want. Someday, he'll be happy knowing it and he won't be so afraid. Nonetheless, I'll be patient. I've been patient my whole life. I don't mind waiting.

I feel like this school year was more eventful than any other year. It was more eventful than crab people, aliens, going to Peru, and all that dumb shit. Maybe other people would disagree, but I can't help but think it's true.

* * *

Later on, once we're done and cleaned off, we lie together on our sides, facing one another. I brush the hair away from his forehead, noticing a small scar near the top. "Hey… what's this from?" I ask, lightly touching it.

"I got punched in the face and didn't duck in time," he reveals, "but the guy was wearing a ring, so instead of just getting bruised, I got cut too. I ended up needing a few stitches."

"Ow…" I mumble, ghosting my fingertips across the rest of his face and down his neck.

"I deserved it," he admits. "I was being a prick and egging on a guy taller than me and three times as broad… got knocked out and he took me to the ER. He stayed 'til I woke up and then asked me _why_ I was such a little prick. I didn't answer him so he left."

"Well, shit," I say. "Why would you go and do a thing like that?"

"For fun," he explains simply.

"How nice," I snort. "What about this?" I ask, poking a faint but ragged looking scar on his arm.

"Clyde's dog bit me," he says, laughing lightly. "They were getting new appliances and he got scared of all the big stuff getting moved around and we couldn't calm him down…"

"Hm,"I muse, staring down at a couple circle-shaped scars. "And these?"

"Cigarette burns…" he says, raising an eyebrow at me. "Why are you asking about this stuff?"

"Scars tell stories," I explain. "And I want to know _all_ your stories."

"How quaint," he snorts.

I just smile. "What's this from?" I hold one of his hands, brushing my thumb across a tiny white mark.

"I stapled my hand to get out of class," he says.

"Oh," I laugh loudly. "I remember that! Everyone thought you were completely mental."

"Hm," he muses.

I run my hand down the flat plane of his abdomen and touch a thicker scar. "What about this one?"

"I fell off the balcony and landed on a pretty sharp rock," he says.

"Shit, how'd you manage that?" I ask with a frown.

"I got pushed," he reveals. "I was teasing Ruby and she got pissed off at me. She didn't mean for me to fall backwards over the railing, but I did. She was scared for a split second, but when she realized I wasn't dead, she laughed in my face."

"Shit," I state. "Remind me never to piss her off."

"Right," he says.

"What about this?" I touch a long, thin scar below his navel near his hip bone.

"Appendicitis," he explains before asking, "You don't have any scars, do you?"

"Nah," I shake my head. "They're gone. When I die, I return good as new and completely unblemished."

"I wish I could get rid of all mine," he admits.

"Why?" I ask.

"Some of them hold shittier memories," he says. "You can't really forget about something when you're forced to wear the consequence."

"Oh," I murmur. "Where are the bad ones?"

He sits up and turns around. "There are three on my back," he sighs. "One on my shoulder."

I sit up as well, leaning closer and touching each of the faint, pink marks. They're long and thin and I don't know what they could possibly be from. "Yeah, I see them…" I say. "I never noticed them before…"

"They're fading," he says, "but not fast enough…"

"What are they from?" I ask.

He laughs bitterly and I can tell the story is going to be awful before he even says a word. "Last year, I was at a bar," he starts. "I was under-aged, so I was waiting around for someone to buy me a drink. Eventually, someone did and I agreed to go back to his place with him. He told me to strip, so I did. He reached for his belt buckle and I thought he was going to do the same, but he didn't. I thought he was going to fuck me and then kick me out, but he ended up beating me with his belt," Craig scoffs at the memory, shaking his head. "I was angry. I was so fucking angry because I didn't consent to that. I was angry at myself for screaming. I tried to run off, but I didn't know my way around his house. So, he caught me and he tied me up. Most of the hits were shallow, but some weren't so they scarred."

"Shit," I whisper. "That's pretty serious..."

"Hm…" Craig shrugs. "I guess something like that was bound to happen eventually because I was always too careless… He said I was a sinner. He said he knew I was a sinner and that's why he picked me. I guess he was a bible-toter, thinking he was Jesus' messenger or some shit. I wondered if he did that kind of thing to any other kids, or maybe I was the only one stupid enough to go home with a guy as fucking creepy and ugly as he was. I had no standards."

"You're not stupid," I tell him. I wrap my arms around and pull him close, allowing him to lean against me. I bury my face in his hair and for a few minutes, we just sit silently like this. I want to tell him he'll be fine now and I'll protect him, but I can't. I can't protect him from everything and I doubt he'd want me to. "Why do you really do the things you do?" I ask, wanting to know the truth.

He lets out a soft sigh. "Sometimes I want to hurt because it's easier than feeling bad."

"Oh," I whisper.

"I should get going," he suddenly says, drawing away from me. "Your graduation is early tomorrow. You should sleep, okay?" he suggests, turning around and giving me a pointed look.

I nod. "I will."

We both get up. He puts his suit back on while I just throw on a pair of shorts. I walk him to the door, kissing him before he goes. Back in my room, I flop onto my mattress, setting my alarm before closing my eyes.

Craig trusts me. He freely told me a story about something that pains him. I'm still surprised at how easily he spoke.

* * *

Come morning, I don't know where my parents are. I guess I'm not really surprised. I knew they wouldn't attend the ceremony. I end up getting a ride to the school with Stan.

"Your parents aren't going to be around?" Sharon asks sympathetically. I'm sitting in the backseat with Stan while Shelly is sitting up front with her mom.

"No," I tell her. "Karen and Kevin are coming, though. They're going to get a ride with Craig and Ruby. Craig didn't want to go to the ceremony, but he's coming for me."

"Well, that's sweet," Sharon says.

"Yeah," I snicker. "Craig is a super sweet guy."

Stan scoffs. "Yeah, he's about as sweet as salt."

I nudge him. "Better watch that tongue of yours, boyo," I warn in an exaggerated man-voice and he laughs, rolling his eyes. "So," I start, "Are Kyle and Eric on their way?"

"Yeah," he says. "They're meeting us there."

* * *

When we arrive to the school, the teachers are frantic and all the parents have their cameras out. I roll my eyes at the ever present chaos. We pull the stupid grad gowns on and the teachers put us all in alphabetical order. Liane is fretting over Cartman, and he looks ultimately annoyed. I can tell he wants to tell her to fuck off, but he won't. He loves his mom, after all.

Similarly, Sheila is doing the same with Kyle, who is exhibiting a lot more patients than Cartman. Ike is snickering while Gerald looks a little wary at his wife's constant state of panic.

Sharon doesn't join in on any of that. She's simply chatting to me and Stan. "Your dad will be here," she reveals.

"Oh, really?" Stan looks surprised.

Sharon nods and smiles.

Moments later, I spot Karen, Kevin, Craig and Ruby making their way through the crowd of parents. "Kenny," Karen greets.

"Congrats on actually graduating high school," Kevin adds.

"What? You doubted I would?" I ask lightly.

He just laughs while Karen snickers mischievously.

When mid-hour strikes, the teachers shoo away all the family members and they take seats in the stands. I give Craig a quick peck on the lips and he walks off with his sister and my sister.

Kyle takes the stage after being announced by the principal. He gives the valedictorian speech, talking about what a wonderful year it has been and how proud everyone should be of themselves. It's pretty emotional. "When we were young," he continues, "we would often get asked what we wanted to be when we grew up. We'd say rocket scientists, astronauts, or the president of the United States… but as we get older, these big dreams often fade away. We get scared and the pressure is on. We no longer want to be rocket scientists, astronauts and presidents. We become more realistic. We aren't taught to follow our dreams, whatever they may be – but I'd like to tell each and every one of you out there that you shouldn't listen to what people say. If you want something, if you really, truly want it… then it's that much closer. For most of us, I know it was a year of self-discovery. It was a year of heartbreak, new romances, new friendships, and all the things that come with growing up. This won't be the end. As you grow, you realize that. You realize that things aren't always easy and good things come and go. I look back on my own life and I don't get as angry as I used to. Today, we'll be taking our first step into adulthood – our first steps into a world that won't coddle us. Some of us will be going to university. Some of us will be getting jobs. Some of us will be travelling. Whoever you are and wherever you end up, be proud you got that far. Be proud. Today we're all doing something pretty special. So, congratulations to the graduating class of 2014!"

When he's finished, the crowd comes alive with applause. He smiles at the audience and once he leaves the stage, the principal takes his place once more. "Now announcing the graduating class of 2014!"

Deep breath.

Here we go.


	32. Everyone: Summer

**South Park © Matt &amp; Trey.**

**If you watch someone play "Scarbo" and watch their fingers moving, it's a wild experience.**

**The end! I decided to give Eric a short POV to hear what he thought about everything that went on. Hope y'all enjoyed. A big thank you to everyone who reviewed and an extra big smile to everyone who gave me ongoing reviews! **

* * *

**Friday – Stan Marsh**

Summer came and now it's almost gone. You can feel it in the air – winter is on its way back. It'll start snowing soon, but by then we'll be leaving this town.

A lot has happened since me and Kyle got back together. My parents decided to get a divorce. I knew it was coming, but my dad has still been keeping his promises. He's been more active in the lives of me and Shelly. He and my mom didn't get back together, but at least they're being civil. That was months ago. He still comes around for weekly visits. For once in his fucking life, he's keeping his promises.

Kyle let me touch him two weeks ago. It was three days after his parents gave him his door back, though it still doesn't have a lock. He got undressed and I got to look at him – _really_ look at him – for the first time. I got to touch every inch of him. He was shaking at first, but I did my best to make him feel at ease. I touched his skin, ghosting my fingers across his face, down his neck, down his chest… After asking if he was sure, I wrapped my hand around him and began to jerk him off. He shuddered, letting out a quiet moan. He fisted the fabric of my shirt as I allowed him to settle on my lap. I liked seeing the faces he made and hearing the sounds he let out. I felt myself smiling softly at him and his expression – the way his eyebrows were drawn together, the way his lips were parted ever so slightly, the way his eyelashes were fluttering… We didn't break eye contact the entire time and it felt incredibly personal, like nothing I'd ever experienced before. When it was over, I reached for a tissue and wiped the mess off his bare stomach. He leaned into me and for minutes, he just stayed there, breathing into my shoulder. "You okay?" I asked carefully. I felt him nod against me, but he didn't say anything. Minutes later he let go of me, standing up and leaving his room without putting his clothes back on. I knew he was going to wash himself, but I didn't say anything. I saw him look both ways before dashing across the hall and into the bathroom, but Ike happened to come up the stairs at the wrong time. "Kyle, put some damn clothes on!" I heard him yell and I found myself laughing. He gave me a _look _as he passed Kyle's open door, but I just wiggled my eyebrows at him.

Two days ago we slept together for the first time and in these past couple days we've done it three more times. It's been nice, each time as perfect as the last. We got clean, we got prepared and we tried a few different positions. Kyle likes missionary. He says it's because he likes to look up at me, even though he doesn't necessarily like when I look at him. I'm hoping that might change someday. I want him to feel wholeheartedly at ease when he's with me, but I know these things take time - a lot of it.

At first, Kyle was nervous. I think he was worried he would do something wrong. I was nervous, too. I didn't want to hurt him. We did a lot of research beforehand. Kyle laughed the entire time. So did I, but that's all good and fine. It's okay to laugh. Sex can be pretty funny.

It's weird how things happen. It's ironic in so many ways. It's unsettling to think about. It's like a puzzle and if you back track, you can figure out the pieces. You can figure out what lead to what. The pieces are people and events. Like I said, it's weird to think about.

As great as things are, I know they won't stay this way. Some days will be better than others, and some days will be worse. I think it's okay. It's just as Kyle said – maybe he won't ever be completely recovered… but it's okay, I think. Even if he relapses, I'll stay by his side. Even if he pushes me away, I'll stay where he can reach me because, no matter what else happens, we'll always be best friends. Because of that and so much more, I'll always love him. Always.

* * *

**Saturday – Eric Cartman**

Most of the graduates will be off to Boulder next week, it's far enough to leave home, but close enough to still return. Clyde, Bebe, Kyle, Stan, Wendy, Lola, Annie and I are no different. Token and Nichole are off to Harvard like the smart rich kids they are. Unlike the rest of us, Craig and Kenny aren't going to university. The two homos are staying here and working for a local construction company they just got hired at. Since this is South Park, a town that is constantly being damaged, construction workers are more prized than the fuckin' hope diamond. Tweek isn't going to university either. He's in rehab, finally. He overdosed a little while ago and the cops found him unconscious in a crack shack in the poor part of town. They say if they found him any later, he would've died. That was the last straw. His buddies held an intervention. I didn't go because I don't really care, but Kenny said there was lots of crying (probably from Clyde). Glad I didn't attend that fag-fest.

Right now, ambient music is blaring and kids are humping in the hallways and in the bathrooms and in the bedrooms. Hell, some are doin' it on the kitchen table. I'm just glad this ain't my damn house. Jason is going to have a huge mess to clean up.

Bebe and Clyde are dancing. He spins her around and she laughs happily. Kenny and his fag, Craig, are currently seated on a sofa. They aren't sitting too close. To the untrained eye, one might not even realize that they're fucking because right now they're talking – just talking – and Craig looks bored as ever. Wendy is dancing with her girlfriends, a pretty hot sight, but I don't hover. Feeling nosy, I turn down the hallway, opening each door I come across to see who is hooking up with who. There's Kevin and Red, who give me a look of irritation. I salute them before shutting the door once more. I continue walking and a moment later, I hear more moaning, only this time, the voices are familiar.

I reach for the knob and open the door as slow and quiet as I can and… Oh, God! Not neat. I'm greeted with an unsavoury sight. Stan has Kyle up against the wall. The Jew has his arms wrapped around Stan's neck and his legs wrapped around Stan's waist. He lets out these little moans as they tongue one another. Oh, Kyle… you dirty, dirty girl. At least they're wearing clothes. I doubt Kyle would be into stripping down somewhere that wasn't his own bedroom... but he seems better these days.

They don't seem to notice me. I should whip out my camera phone right now, but I won't. Not this time. I'll give Kyle a break, but I'll go back to teasing him soon enough. I think he'll be able to handle it again.

"Holy hell," I groan to myself, shutting the door and walking away. I knew it. I fuckin' knew it. I'll taunt them about it later.

I turn back down the hallway, going downstairs where I find Annie. She is standing there with her hands on her hips. "There you are," she says.

I smirk at her. "Here I am."

* * *

**Sunday – Kyle Broflovski **

"I just washed my hands," I say aloud to myself as I sit on my unmade bed. "I just washed my hands and I don't need to do it again." It's a personal reminder. I need to keep repeating it. It gets hard sometimes, but I've been doing so much better. My hands don't hurt anymore. They look normal.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath before counting.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

It's my familiar ritual. It calms me down, even now. I exhale, opening my eyes again and staring down at my computer screen. I've got Facebook open and I'm talking to Stan.

STANLEY R. MARSH: _Are you scared of leaving home?_

KYLE BROFLOVSKI: _A bit. Are you?_

I've been so selfish. I keep apologizing for it, but Stan continues to tell me it's fine and that I have nothing to feel sorry over. I beg to differ, but I know I should stop. When you say sorry enough times, it begins to lose its meaning. It grows stale and annoying. I don't want Stan to see me that way.

STANLEY R. MARSH: _A bit. But I'm also excited. Besides, my home is pretty broken as it is. At least I have it better than Kenny._

KYLE BROFLOVSKI: _Poor Kenny._

I don't want to become a burden or an annoyance. I want to be there for Stan the way he's here for me. When he's sad, I want him to feel like he can tell me why. I don't want him to feel like he needs to hide things from me because I won't be able to handle it, or because I'm just too fragile. I'm not fragile. I can handle things. I've been handling things my whole damn life. I think he sees that now. When Stan is sad, I don't want him to swallow it. I've learned that that's not the way to do things. You can't hide forever.

STANLEY R. MARSH: _He won't always have to live there, though._

KYLE BROFLOVSKI: _He's excited for his future._

I love Stan and Stan loves me. Wherever we are, whatever we are and however we end up, that won't change. I know we'll always have this.

STANLEY R. MARSH: _Yeah. We all should be excited. We all have so much to look forward to. It's like our lives have just begun. _

KYLE BROFLOVSKI: _Yeah. I see that now. I never used to._

It's quiet and I'm alone at home. Ike is at Filmore's and my parents are out having dinner. There's a voice in my head reminding me of my anxiety. It's so close I can feel it and I know how easy it would be to listen to it… but I won't. I won't. At least, I'll try not to. I'll do it for my friends and I'll do it for my family until I can finally do it for me. I'm working on it, really, I am.

As I wait for Stan's response, I glance to my nightstand and stare at the photograph sitting on it. It was taken during graduation day. It's of me, Stan, Kenny and Cartman. We're in those ugly gowns, diplomas in hand. We look happy. All of us, even me. It's strange to see, so I look away.

The long mirror hanging on my closet door is eyeballing me. My parents bought it for me at the start of summer. I asked them to because I've decided to try what Tweek's therapist told him to do.

I stand up and wander across me room until I'm standing in front of it. I grab the edge of my shirt and pull it up, staring at my stomach in the mirror. I don't like what I see. In fact, I hate it… but maybe I can fake it 'til I make it. Maybe I can learn to like what I see… to _love_ what I see…

Someday.

This can be my goal.

After a few moments, I hear a _blip_, notifying me that Stan has replied. I pull down my shirt and flop back onto my bed.

* * *

**Monday – Kenny McCormick**

Me and Craig are now working members of society, on our way to becoming construction workers. Nothing glamorous, but we don't mind. It's money, hard earned, but it will be worth it when I finally get a taste of freedom. Someday soon, I'll be able to move out of my parents' house. I won't have to feel sick to my stomach every time I see them and every time they _don't_ see me.

Craig has been a little lighter lately, but I still think he should see a doctor. He said he'd think about it, so I'll leave it at that for now. I don't regret anything that happened, even the bad parts, because I think I learned a lot about myself through it. I think Craig learned a lot about himself, too.

Later on, we decide to go see Tweek in rehab. After a near death experience a few weeks after graduation, we all got together and told him he needed to make some serious changes in his life. Finally, he listened.

When we arrive, Tweek looks rejuvenated. He doesn't look as tired and he no longer looks like he's about to wilt and die.

"You got a haircut," I mention, noting the shorter 'do.

Tweek laughs somewhat bitterly, running his hands through his freshly trimmed hair. "I locked myself in a fuckin' bathroom with a pair of scissors I jacked from a nurse and I started cutting my hair. They were freaking out, they thought I was gonna try and kill myself or something…"

"Y'know" I reach forward and touch one of the strands, "for a half-assed job, it looks pretty good. The choppy look suits you best."

"It was getting in the way," Tweek says, "tickling my face and whatnot."

"Yeah, my hair does that, too," I snicker.

"The sores are healing," Craig notes. "You look good."

"Yeah," Tweek murmurs, bringing a hand up to touch his cheek.

"If you don't stay sober this time, I swear to God…" Craig trails off.

"There's motivation," Tweek snorts.

After a brief but pleasant visit, Craig and I tell Tweek we'll see him soon and we make our way back to the Tucker residence. It's starting to get cooler outside, even though it's still summer. I can feel winter trying to make its way back. Soon, the snow will return full force and there will be no evidence that summer was ever here.

We step into Craig's house and remove our sneakers, hovering in the lobby. "I love you…" he says suddenly.

"I love you, too," I reply. I'm still not used to hearing him say it because he denied it for so long, but they're words I welcome.

"I love you…" he repeats himself.

"I love you, too," I say again.

"I mean it," he whispers. "I really fucking love you and it hurts and I hate it."

I put my arms around him and pull him close. "That's love for yah," I decide to quote Karen.

"I'm going to show you something," he says once we part, taking my hand.

I follow him down the hall and soon we're in Craig's basement – just the two of us. The piano is sitting in the corner of the room, looking like it hasn't been touched in a very long time. There is a thick sheet of dust coating the wood. "A while ago," he starts, "when you found out I played, you said you wanted to hear me."

"Yeah," I say.

"Do you still?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say again.

Craig sits on the bench and slowly raises his hands, brushing them across the keys. I sit down next to him, waiting patiently. "Do you believe in spirits?" he asks out of the blue. "Like... ghosts and shit?"

"Yeah," I tell him. "Do you?"

"Yeah," he admits. "Stupid as it sounds, sometimes I see them in my head... dead people… living people… They tell me to do things."

"What kinds of things to they tell you to do?" I ask.

"Good things," he says. "They tell me to be a better person. They tell me to be moral. I always learn these things the hard way."

"Who do you see, Craig?"

"Often it's my mom… other days it's the faces of people I've fucked or fucked with."

"Oh," I say.

"I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing," he admits, finally pressing the first note.

I stare down, watching his fingers dance across the keys. His movements are incredibly quick, precise and graceful. "My, God…" I whisper, completely mesmerized.

"My mother loved Maurice Ravel…" he says as he continues to play. "This one is called _Gaspard de la Nuit_. It's the third movement - _Scarbo_."

"You're amazing…" I tell him genuinely. I've never seen something so fucking wildly beautiful.

He smiles faintly. "I used to play this for her… but Ruby always said it sounds like a mess. It might not have the _prettiest_ sound, but still…"

"I don't think it sounds like a mess," I say.

"Me neither," he adds. "Ruby has no taste."

I chuckle. For many minutes, I listen to him play. Halfway through, he begins tearing up. He looks like he's in pain, but he doesn't stop and I don't say a word. I let him finish, because I think it's something he needs to do. When the song is over, he abandons the piano once again.

When we go back upstairs, Thomas is standing at the top. His eyes are swimming. He clears his throat and stares at his son. "Your mother loved that piece," he says in a soft, gravelly tone.

Craig looks surprised at the words. "Yeah," his voice cracks. "I know." He looks at his father and neither of them break eye contact. Craig probably doesn't want the moment to end. He doesn't want his father to go back to ignoring him. "Dad?" he says weakly.

I take a few steps away, leaving them alone. I walk into the kitchen and take a seat at the table. It's quiet – just the wind whirling outside the window, another summer storm is on its way. After a few minutes, I re-enter the hallway and see Craig with his face pressed into his father's shoulder. Instead of wrapping his arms around Thomas, he has his arms wrapped around himself. He's still trying to protect himself, even now. Thomas has one hand on his son's head while the other hangs limply at his side. A short while later, they part and Thomas returns upstairs, leaving Craig in the hallway without another word.

"Are you okay?" I ask him gently, hovering in the archway of the kitchen. Craig offers me a smile, though his eyes are tired. He looks prettiest when he smiles like this – there's nothing cruel or cold about him. Perhaps he's not okay, but I hope someday he will be. I want him to find more meaning in life. I want him to be able to smile thoughtlessly. Nonetheless, I don't say any of this. For now, I simply take his hand and smile back.

What a day. What a year. What a life – what a beautiful and painful and wonderful life…

I wouldn't ask for anything other than this.

**Fin.**


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